Like Freedom in Spring
by Ithaeli
Summary: Jean has been given a second chance at life, and she begins a journey to reconcile her past crimes and find an absolution for herself and the Phoenix. Chapter 9: Back at the school, Jean is forced to face everything she loved and all that she left maimed.
1. Quiet Fire

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, storylines, anything from either the X-Men movies or the X-Men comic series.

The air was misty, and the dewdrops on the plants that morning played with the young sunlight they caught on their opalescent, glassy surfaces. Ribbons of mist rose ever-so-slowly from the damp grass and soil. The utter stillness of the air lulled the world into a state of purity, quiet and peace. It was one of those mornings when everything seemed new. It was nature at its most serene. But for the one man awake at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters this fine morning, peace and serenity were the last things on his mind.

He didn't even notice the first rays of the sun peeking over the horizon. He crouched stone-still in the garden, holding a pristine white lily in his left hand, which he fiddled with absentmindedly. Before his bare feet were two gravestones, chilling centerpieces in a yard that was otherwise bursting with life this time of year. One was marked with the name of Scott Summers; the other, Jean Grey.

"_Be well…"_

_And he did it. He saw her face contort in pain before she smiled that last, beautiful smile at him…and she passed._

Visions of her last moments consumed his mind. He held his face in his free hand. He felt like crying, but no tears came. He'd spent too many over the past year. Why did it have to be him? He had loved her, and he was the one responsible for her death… it was everyone's worst nightmare to kill the one they loved. It still haunted his dreams as fiercely as though it were really happening.

Logan didn't sleep much these days.

He placed the white lily on Jean's grave and continued to stare at it as he became lost in his own thoughts. He relived the moment over and over. It was torture.

"Logan?"

A hand on his shoulder and a gentle voice drew him out of his waking nightmare. He looked up toward the horizon. The sun was already up. He'd been there a long time. His gaze shifted over to the person addressing him. "Oh. Hey, Ororo." He'd recognized the shock of white hair first.

Ororo looked around the yard and inhaled a breath of fresh air as she smiled. "Beautiful morning, isn't it? I didn't even have to do anything this time," she joked. Logan humored her with a small laugh. "Yeah it is nice out." His eyes drifted almost involuntarily to the lily again. Ororo's smiled faded. Normally she'd know exactly what to say, but now there was nothing she could. She knew how much Logan had cared for Jean. And she knew what day it was. But he needed to start living again, and how could she tell him that without sounding cruel?

Logan stood up suddenly and faced Ororo. "Let's go get some breakfast," he said, sounding a little forced. Ororo was surprised; it was almost as though he'd read her mind. "That sounds good," she replied.

As they walked back toward the building, Logan took one last glance at the two graves side by side. _I will always love you, Jean, _he thought, _wherever you are._

It was exactly a year since the day he'd ended her life on Alcatraz.

The air was cool and damp on her skin. The sounds of water smashing against rock were the first sounds to fill her ears. She felt rocks poking at her stomach and arms. Discomfort. It was a feeling she knew. The smell of ash and salt inundated her senses.

_Wake up._

One hand clutched at the ground and grasped dust and soil… tangible things. She breathed in humid air, and she coughed as she inhaled dust also. Even so, she savored these first few moments in the world. Everything was real again.

_Sit up. Look around you._

She opened her eyes laboriously and rolled over onto her back with a groan. Light flowed in through her pupils as she opened her eyes wider and blinked some. It was morning, and the sunrise lit her stunning green eyes with flecks of gold. Long, fiery red hair fell all around her face. She stood up in one sweeping motion and opened her fingers to let the dirt run out of her hand. Looking down at herself, she saw she was wearing a white sundress. Her feet were bare. She let in another breath and could almost taste the salt this time.

"I'm… alive," she whispered in awe, and that was the final confirmation. Memories came flooding back to her. Everything. Annie, the Professor, Scott, Logan, the Phoenix, death, death, DEATH! She held her head in her hands as she tried to suppress the fierce, primal force within her… the force that had used her to kill everything that threatened it. She still felt its raw power surging through her body, beating at the walls of her mind. Could she stop it this time?

She felt a lump rise in her throat. She would have to be stronger. Or she'd condemn herself to death again. Somehow, she'd find a way.

She released her grip on her head as she felt the Phoenix become calm inside. She sorted out her memories. _I have to return to the school,_ she thought to herself. _I have to face what I've done, and let my teammates be my judge._ She lifted her eyes heavenward. "God be with me," she said aloud before she stepped gingerly toward the waters of the San Francisco Bay.


	2. This Shallow Darkness

"One mile down, one to go. Come on, Charles, push yourself."

A man who appeared to be in his late fifties jogged along the side of the road, huffing and puffing slightly as he went. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins, that slight ache of muscle as he went step by step. The "burn" everyone always talked about; his morning jog. He loved that feeling.

About a year ago, he hadn't been able to use his legs at all. But that wasn't his body anymore. That one was scattered in billions of pieces, darkly cremated and lying among the ashes that lay beneath Jean Grey's childhood home. This new body was… better, dare he say. More functional. More complete. Since he had performed his transfer-of-consciousness, he now enjoyed the use of his legs. That's why he had taken up jogging after returning to the school about ten months ago. Everyone was glad he was back, and they praised him for not taking his new abilities for granted. Charles Xavier was definitely happier.

He came within sight of the school and slowed his pace to a brisk walk, dabbing the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve as he made his way across the lawn.

"Charles!"

Charles looked for the source of the voice that called his name, and saw Dr. Moira MacTaggert coming toward him from the building. Moira was an old friend of Charles, and she had returned with him to the school when she heard they were in need of a doctor (and of course, to stay current on Charles's progress as he became accustomed to his new body). She was also a talented geneticist, and had even been asked to do research for the organization that had developed the mutant cure of a year ago, but she had refused because of her ties with the mutant community. As of now, she was the only true human residing on campus at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. She got along with everyone splendidly.

Charles slowed to a stop and waited for Moira to catch up to him. "Good morning, Moira. How goes everything?"

"Everything's great; good morning yourself, Charles," she told him in a light Highland accent. She smiled, but her eyes were still slightly serious. "I need to show you some blood samples I collected from Marie."

"Marie?" _Ah, yes, Rogue,_ Charles thought. She had taken the cure during his absence and no longer preferred to be known as Rogue, but he still wasn't used to calling her by her birth name. "Why did you need samples from her?"

Moira cocked her head toward the building. "Come to the lab with me and I'll show you?"

"Of course." He was intrigued, and yet he felt there was some seriousness in the matter.

He and Moira passed through the doors of the school and into the hallways, which were bustling with activity at breakfast time this Sunday morning. Charles remembered a time when he used to go through these same halls with Jean on the way to the lab. To tell the truth, Jean was never far from the Professor's mind. Xavier had been heartbroken, yet not surprised to learn of her fate. He blamed himself for not being able to help her, for not being cautious enough. He had made a terrible mistake in allowing the Phoenix to rampage, and it had cost the life of one of his oldest and dearest friends… in fact, she was more like a daughter to him. He missed Jean terribly. He missed her soul, her vibrancy, the dedication and love she put into everything she did. Without her, the school would always be missing a certain part of itself… she had made the time she spent there magical. Now, Jean was but a good memory.

Still, at times, Charles wondered… in all the folklore, the Phoenix always rose from the ashes of its former self.

---0---

The sun was rising higher as she walked on. Jean dwelled faintly on everything she'd caused to happen as she kept walking and looked straight ahead through the crowded sidewalks. People were talking around her, laughing, yelling at each other; coughing, little kids squealing… she heard their every thought as well. Fortunately, not too many of them were about her. As she stood at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, a young boy and his mother came and stood right next to her. She could feel the boy's eyes boring into her, examining her from head to toe. His only thought was, _why isn't she wearing any shoes?_

Jean looked down and realized that, in fact, she hadn't been wearing shoes the entire time. Her feet were grimy and it felt like they were bruised—even cut—on the soles. She hadn't even noticed the ache until now. She hardly noticed anything. Jean was, one would say, numb to the world… her only concentration on keeping the Phoenix barred from it. She thought maybe it was better that way. If she was unaware of any threatening circumstance, the Phoenix—which, now she thought of it, was just like a strong survival instinct—would continue to sleep. She would live a painless, joyless life as only Jean… _it's better than no life at all,_ Jean assured herself. But she really wasn't sure if she believed that.

The lights changed, and Jean walked forward automatically, going with the crowd, still staring only straight ahead. She tried to block out the thought of her aching feet, her tired legs, the way that little boy had stared at her… but to little avail. She could ignore her feet, but memories were memories, and they wouldn't go away, no matter how much she wanted them to. Jean stopped once she reached the sidewalk, wrapping one arm loosely around the stoplight post. She leaned her head on it and released a regretful sigh as she closed her eyes, trying, even just for a minute, to be someone else, someone _not_ telepathic, someone who wasn't a walking time bomb… no, more like a walking apocalypse, she thought with a sickened shudder.

Her feet were throbbing. The aching was becoming unbearable. She'd been walking for God-knows-how-long, and she hadn't even been aware of what she'd stepped on until now. Jean realized she had no money, nobody she knew here. Just her own two aching, dirty, cut-up feet. And how far would they get her? She was reconsidering whether begging was really above her.

A series of melodious, echoing rings resonated in her ears above the street noise and she looked over her shoulder toward the sound. _Church bells,_ she thought. _It's Sunday._ Despite her efforts to be uninvolved with the outside world, they sounded hopeful and inviting to her. The church was on a landing above the sidewalk. People were crowding into it. Jean remembered a verse she'd learned as a little girl. "Come, all ye who are weary, and I will give you rest," she spoke it softly. Well, she was weary now. Had God forgotten about her? She would find out. Jean started walking decisively toward the church, and then broke into a run as she felt her feet treading on the cool, damp grass. In spite of circumstances, she conceded that it really did feel good to be alive.

---0---

Bobby Drake sighed deeply as he stood at the window in the kitchen, ignoring the hustle and bustle of the students lining up for breakfast behind him. He watched the sunrise absentmindedly as the clouds flushed yellow and pink, fiddling with the recently-made hole in the left pocket of his jeans. His mind was on something else altogether.

"Bobby?"

He blinked and took his hands out of his pockets as he turned to face the person addressing him. Kitty was in a wifebeater and black sweatpants, and she looked at him quizzically as she sipped her orange juice. "Sleep okay?" she asked casually.

"Yeah, fine," he shrugged. "You?"

Kitty smiled, her upper lip shiny and slightly yellow from her juice. "Slept well, thanks."

"That's good," Bobby replied. "Hey, do you know where Marie is? I've been waiting here a while for her…"

Kitty's gaze drifted away as she thought. "Well, ummm… she was still asleep when I left, I think. Probably still is."

Bobby laughed and shook his head. "She's so lazy… maybe I'll go give her a wakeup call."

Kitty raised her eyebrows and took another swallow of juice. "'Kay, but don't be too long or I'll have to come check on you."

"Don't worry," he said as he maneuvered out of the kitchen. "We'll be down soon."

"Oh, Bobby!" Kitty called after him, remembering something. When Bobby looked back at her, her face was both pensive and fretful. "She might be… a little off today. Just be nice," she told him. He shrugged, but worry started to spark in his mind. "Okay, I will. Thanks, Kitty."

"Yeah, sure thing." She turned back and started looking for a plate as though nothing had happened.

When he reached Marie's room, he tiptoed up slowly and put his ear to the door. At first he heard nothing, but just as he raised his fist to knock on the door, a muffled sob escaped across the threshold. He lowered his hand slightly and called through the door. "Marie? You okay?"

"Bobby?" he heard the weary reply. Then a pause before she spoke again. "Don't come in here!"

"Okay." He waited patiently for a couple of minutes, but was concerned. Finally, he rested his hand on the doorframe and called in again. "Can I come in now?"

"No! Not now, not ever! I'm not coming down!"

"Marie, what's wrong?" he asked, growing more and more worried. She never acted like this; even when she was having a bad day, she was always happy to see him… "Please, can I come in?"

"NO!" she yelled from inside the room. Followed by a quiet whimper. "I'm too dangerous."

Bobby was unsure of what his girlfriend meant by saying that, so he stood there for a little while and then slowly, quietly tried turning the doorknob. When the door breezed open a crack, he paused. But Marie didn't object, so he opened it all the way and stepped into the room. He saw her lying on her bed, covered by sheets except for her eyes, which were red and swollen from crying. He wondered how long she'd been awake. Sighing, he went to her side, only to have her inch away from his touch and huddle further under the blankets. Bobby gave up and sat on the side of the bed. "What's going on, Marie?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a stifled sob, and began to cry again as she rolled over away from Bobby. He could see she wasn't ready to talk yet, so he just sat and let her cry into her pillow. _Why is she so upset?_ He wondered. Bobby was afraid she'd had a nightmare, been hurt by someone… or something worse. He couldn't take just sitting by and watching her wallow in torment. "Please… I've gotta know what's wrong. I can't stand to see you like this and not know why," he pushed her gently for an answer.

Marie rolled over to face him as she sniffled. "I… I think my mutation is back, Bobby. I'm so scared," she whispered.

Bobby was shocked, but he tried not to show it. "How… how do you know?"

She sniffled again. "Well, yesterday evening I was in here with Kitty, just hanging out… she made a joke about me or something and we started wrestling around," she explained, laughing a little. "But when I pinned her arms down and started counting to ten, she started to look pale and sweaty and was breathing harder than she should've been… and when I got up and went to go sit on my bed, I went right through… Kitty was fine after a few minutes, but I was really scared," she cried.

Bobby covered Marie with a sheet as she sat up and hugged her to him tightly. "Are you sure?"

Marie nodded into his shoulder and swallowed. "Dr. MacTaggert took a blood sample last night… she hasn't gotten back to me on it yet, but I'm pretty sure." She burst into a fresh round of tears.

Bobby sighed reluctantly. "I'm sorry, Marie. I'm so sorry." He stroked her hair softly and let her cry. She clung tightly to his shirt and shook with each sob. "It's not right, it's not right," she whined into his chest. "I loved being able to touch you… to touch anyone… they can't do this… they just can't! It isn't _fair!_" she yelled as she pounded on his back with her fist. Bobby didn't care. He was angry, too, but he was biting his tongue. Marie needed his comfort more than anything at that moment. "I know. I know," he whispered as he kissed her hair. "It'll be okay."

Marie drew back looking incensed, her face still streaked with tears. "Okay? _Okay?_ No, it isn't okay! Not for me!" she vented. "They said they had a _cure! _Meaning forever! Not—not this!" she threw her hands down on the bed to make her point. Her breath caught in her throat as her anger died. "They lied. They lied to everyone." She hugged her knees to her chest and sank her head into them with a despairing moan.

They sat in silence for a little while, and then Bobby reached out and laid his hand on her shoulder. "I'm always here. I'm not leaving you. It… it never made a difference in how I felt about you, Marie." She looked up at him with a glimmer of hope in her eye and he smiled sweetly at her. She smiled back uncertainly. "You sure? I mean… I can't ever—"

"—It doesn't matter to me at all." He was half-lying. It_ had_ mattered; in the last year their relationship had grown so much, but he knew without a doubt that he could be happy with Marie, even if her gift—yes, he considered it a _gift—_ was an obstacle for them. "Remember, I told you in the first place that it didn't matter whether you had taken the cure or not."

Marie smiled genuinely this time. "I love you, Bobby," she said with her deep-south accent showing through.

He planted a brief kiss on her lips and grinned. "I love you too." He could see she was still distraught, though. This hadn't just been about them. Marie had always felt limited and dehumanized by her mutation. _But_, he decided, _she needs to not dwell on it so much._ "Do you wanna come downstairs and have breakfast?" he asked as he opened the drawer to her nightstand. "They've got chocolate chip pancakes; I know you like those."

"Bobby, I don't know, I just—" Marie trailed off as she looked down and saw his hand extended, holding the satin gloves he had given her at his family's house. They were her favorite pair, she remembered. But was she ready for this yet? She stared at them with both apprehension and desire. _If I put them on,_ she mused, _Marie is gone. Only Rogue remains._ It wasn't as if she had a choice; she would have to assume Rogue sooner or later. But how long did she want to delay it? To her surprise, she thought of Jean. She thought of what the other X-Men had explained to her about the rise of the Phoenix. Of how it consumed Jean and she struggled for control. Suddenly she became more afraid.

_But I'm not Jean, and Rogue isn't the Phoenix_, she thought. _I can handle it._ Every mutant had to take risks with their power. Now that Marie thought of it, she had just always shied away from risk, preferring fearful stability… like Jean, she thought. Maybe this really was what she needed. Maybe she could learn to deal with Rogue. There had to be a reason for these powers.

Marie slipped a glove over her right hand and wiggled her fingers in, gazing at it thoughtfully. Rogue had returned. She looked up at Bobby and gave him a wry smile. "I think I can handle it."

Bobby smiled back proudly at the woman he loved and held her gloved hands in his. "I always knew you could."

"Hey, you two behaving in here?" Kitty stood in the doorway with her arms crossed and a smug smile on her face. Rogue and Bobby both looked up. "Yeah, we're fine," Bobby said as he stood up. Kitty's smile faded into worry as she saw that Rogue was wearing her old gloves and had puffy, red eyes from crying. She sighed and went to sit next to her. "You doing okay, sister?"

Rogue read the concern on Kitty's face. She shrugged. "As well as can be. I'm sorry for what I did to you."

Kitty gave her a tentative hug. "It's no big deal, I'm fine. I just hope you don't get too depressed about this," she said with a small smile.

"I don't think so," Rogue said thoughtfully, staring into space for a moment. Then she stood up and shuffled her slippers onto her feet. "Anyway, I don't know about y'all, but I'm gonna go get some breakfast. They have any chocolate chip pancakes left?"

Bobby got to his feet and grasped her hand as they walked out the doorway. "Oh, yeah. Like they wouldn't save some for the always-fearsome Rogue," he joked.

"No one is safe from her wrath once all the pancakes are gone!" Kitty gasped melodramatically.

Rogue laughed and pulled off a glove as the three teenagers made their way down the hall. "Ah, sweet, sweet vengeance…" The other two looked at her nervously and backed away. She rolled her eyes and shoved the glove back on. "I'm just kidding!"

---0---

"Thank you, thank you for coming today… it's good to see you; welcome!" An older woman handed out programs and greeted churchgoers with a warm smile and sparkling eyes. "Good morning! Nice to see you here." She turned to face the next person waiting for a program and greeting. The man had midnight-colored skin and yellow eyes; his face was carved with gruesomely detailed symbols, his fingernails were white, thick and crudely trimmed, and his barbed tail swished along the ground anxiously. Nevertheless, she smiled, the same kindness lighting her face. "Good morning, Mr. Wagner! How are you?"

The strange-looking man returned the smile and gave the woman a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek. "_Wünderbar_, Mrs. Allen, thank you very much," he replied with a thick German accent. The lady handed him a program as she chuckled. "Enjoy the service, Mr. Wagner."

"I will," he nodded before moving on into the lobby. There, he greeted fellow members casually and made conversation. Kurt Wagner was happy here. He felt, after all this time, he'd finally found a place in the world for someone like him. Most mutants didn't look any different from humans, so they could go where they pleased without fear, but he had always been different, always been feared because of his appearance. At this church, he was welcomed and treated as a person. Here, people saw past the first impression (even Kurt had to admit he looked frightening) and into the person he really was: a man who was faithful to God, with a gentle spirit and always willing to lend a helping hand. Plus, his ability to teleport sometimes proved useful (though he rarely did so in public). He had even been asked, recently, to teach Sunday school for first- and second-grade children. All because of God's grace, and the dream of one brilliant mutant named Charles Xavier, Kurt often said. No one ever told him, but they knew it was mutants like him that made them believe in a future of peace and cooperation between the two races.

"Hello, Kurt, good to see you," the gruff voice of a friend said as he nodded and shook Kurt's hand vigorously. "How are things?"

"Everything is going well. I'm staying on my feet these days, even though rent is harsh." Kurt saw his friend staring at a point behind him, his brow creasing in a frown, jaw dropped slightly. "Who in the world…?"

Kurt followed his gaze to see a tall woman with her back facing him, looking around as if she didn't know where she was. She looked—he could think of no other way to describe what he saw of her—serenely destitute. Her hair was long, tangled and red with gold hints as a bit of sunlight escaped through the doorway to shine on it. She was wearing a dirty and wrinkled white sundress, which her long fingers clutched at unconsciously, and her long, thin legs were dirty and scraped. Her feet were bare. When she stepped, he saw her soles were black with dirt, and blood coagulated in small cuts all along them. Compassion rose in his heart for this creature. "She probably just wanted to find some shelter…" he found himself saying aloud. Suddenly the woman turned around, and Kurt's compassion turned to shock as he saw her face, dazed and confused, glancing around, but all too familiar. His eyes went wide. "It can't be…"

"Kurt?" His friend had seen his reaction. Kurt turned to him. "I know that woman," he told him before making his way through the crowd toward her. A million thoughts ran through Kurt's head. He was still in touch with Xavier's Institute; last he had heard, she was dead as of a year ago. Could he just be seeing things? Could she be an angel, perhaps? But Kurt was sure she was real. Other people saw her, too, and they were staring at her, not sure what to do. But she had helped him before, and now she looked like she needed his help. He approached her tentatively, and finally her gaze fell on him, turning into almost the same kind of shock Kurt had expressed when he'd seen her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing would come out.

"Jean? Jean Grey, is that you?" Kurt asked in a hushed tone, not wanting to draw more attention to her than was necessary. She nodded in response, then finally forced out words. "Kurt… I didn't expect to see you here…"

Kurt laughed in disbelief and shook his head. "They told me you had died!" he said as he gave her a brief, tight hug. Then he stepped back and looked her over. "Jean, you look… you look…"

"Terrible?" Jean threw out the suggestion with a wry smile. "Yeah, I probably do." She sighed.

"Why are you here in San Francisco? And in this church?" Kurt whispered as he led her away from the crowd to speak to her more.

Jean shook her head. "I don't know… I just… woke up, and I was on Alcatraz…"

_Alcatraz!_ The word triggered a new flood of memories, a more detailed picture. _Save me, save me, save me,_ it echoed over in her head, over the screams and the fire and the wind and the rain and oh, God it was too much! "No, stop it…" she whispered to herself as she held back that tidal wave of emotion that threatened to crash down on her heart and destroy her control again, but then she remembered that last moment… _Jean, I love you… I love you…_and the swelling of emotions in her mind cooled and went still, and Jean breathed out as she regained control. She opened her eyes to see tapestries settle against the wall from where they'd been floating, papers scatter on the floor in front of a crowd that stared at her, mouths gaping, either in terror or in awe. Kurt's expression was one of worry. "I'm taking you to my home, Jean. You need some rest and cleaning up, and may the good Lord forgive me for missing the service."

Jean nodded, trying to hide her embarrassment. She looked only downward and held herself in her own arms as Kurt led her down the steps away from the church and toward an apartment complex about a block away.

When they arrived, Kurt went to run a bath for Jean and told her to feel free to look around. Jean noticed Kurt's apartment was well-lit and very neat. He lived and took joy in simplicity, she guessed from the lack of electronics (except for the phone) or unnecessary things throughout the space. It seemed his only source of entertainment was a large bookshelf stuffed with literature—Jean was surprised to see, among Judeo-Christian references, classics by authors like Tolstoy and Dumas and poetry by Whitman. His preferred décor consisted of an embroidery or two of Bible verses, and various crucifixes on the walls and end tables. The biggest of these, and the centerpiece of the apartment, was a one-foot-long, intricately detailed iron cross with white linen hung around the beam; it hung on the inside of the front door. Kurt was a man of faith, that much was true. Jean recalled, with a smile, that at their first meeting she had dismissed him as fanatical, but now that she saw the quieter, more human side of him, she found herself wanting to touch the surface of something to believe in. Was it just that she was so afraid of herself that she wanted to cling to something more powerful than her?

She was left hanging on this thought as Kurt emerged from the bathroom. "It's all ready for you," he said with a wave of his hand and a nod. Jean smiled as she absently finger combed her hair. "Thanks, Kurt," she replied.

Her old teammate smiled as he sat on his sofa and put his shoes back on. "I have to go grocery shopping; I will try not to be too long." He passed Jean to go out, and paused at the door, turning around to smile at her. "I hope we can sit down and talk after I return. I'll be back soon, _fräulein_," he said as he closed the door. Jean let out a puff of air as she made her tired way toward what she suspected would be the best bath she'd ever take.

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For those of you who are confused, in this story I chose to go with the storyline (as far as I can follow it) from the X-Men 3 video game, which explains Kurt's absence in the third movie by having him leave the X-Men because, apparently, their lifestyle was too violent for him. So blatant a kill-off on their part, I know (and Nightcrawler was cool, too!), but it was good for this because it meant that Jean could run into someone she knew instead of wandering aimlessly for chapter upon chapter… besides that, I hope I've been good at sticking to character so far! Please review and give your ideas for future chapters… Jean still has a long way to go before she reaches Xavier's. Thanks for reading!


	3. The Sea and the Stars

Disclaimer: Again, I don't own X-Men in any way, shape or form, and I don't own or have rights to Coldplay, their album "A Rush of Blood to the Head," or their song "Warning Sign." But that doesn't mean I don't think they're cool.

* * *

"Checkmate."

He watched as his opponent's dark eyes transitioned into the quietest dismay, a dry smile crossing the lips briefly as it tried its best to hide the animal instinct that hated and feared defeat. No matter how gracious a loser someone was, he could always see that loathing behind their eyes. Such an ugly, primal antipathy. These _Homo sapiens_ weren't far from animals themselves in their minds and hearts. No matter how much they loved one, they secretly hated another, often without reason. All they really cared about was survival of the fittest. They stomped on toes—with subtlety and cunning now instead of barefaced rage like they had in millennia before, but still with the same eternally unsatisfied desire… to be the one living instead of the other.

What he hadn't realized until now was that mutants had always been the same way.

"Good game," the opponent said politely, his elderly face wrinkling in a pleasant smile and his hand gripping the other's with vigor and, the other knew, a flicker of anger at losing. It was only a game, though. Everything was only a game, a struggle for power, and all were pieces on the board of the world. He'd known it from the moment he'd seen the glint in that officer's eye as he clutched his mother's hand on the way to the ghetto. But he thought his kind had always been the champion in the power struggle. Until the Phoenix became their Praetorian guard, her power screaming beyond anyone's ignorance, _Thou art mortal_.

"Thank you," he said, shaking the opponent's hand as they both stood. "I hope we can play again." His tone showed no sign of being patronizing, even as he gloated over his trifling victory. All his victories were small now. The birds sang cheerily in the park, a sharp contrast to his brooding, as he stretched his arms and heaved a sigh. His He didn't hear anything except the birds and the faraway sounds of traffic. Well, it was late morning. All those who usually played chess in the park were now at church, or relaxing at home. He raised his hand slightly toward the chessboard. All the pieces shook slightly at once, then glided smoothly across the board to their starting positions and settled with another small tremble. He smiled knowingly as he dropped his hand to his side and began to walk away.

Oh, yes, he was once again a mutant. He had regained his abilities months ago. But he didn't feel he could be who he was, because now that he'd been in the shoes of these people, he felt they had taken a part of him with them. His dream had died with his powers a year ago, and only the latter resurrected. He had tried desperately to forget what it was, his old dream, because now he knew his heart had been blackened by it. He was no better than that officer who had regarded him as subhuman. Over the past year he had spent many hours alone, battling with his old contempt for the being he had ironically become. It was a fight between the human and mutant that were both him now. It wasn't possible, wasn't right, what he had wanted. But, he thought, maybe now he had overcome Magneto's twisted heart. Maybe now he could live in peace with himself, just as Eric Lehnsherr, an old, simple man who just happened to have an extraordinary ability.

"Did you really think no one would be watching?"

Or maybe not.

He closed his eyes calmly and opened them again as he turned to face a tall, beautiful woman with jet-black hair and blue eyes, standing a fair distance away. He smiled and shook his head as he recognized who it was. "You least of all."

She snickered and crossed her arms as she looked him over, her lips pursed. "You've changed."

"So have you, my dear." _She's exquisite, _he thought as he looked at her, and a pang of guilt hit him as he remembered his cruelty toward this beautiful creature. "It's good to see you," he said sincerely.

The woman stared at him coolly. "Can't say the same for you, after what you did."

"Oh, Raven," he sighed as he took a few steps closer to her. "I hope you can forgive me. I was cruel to you."

She shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned, you got your due." Then a sly smile crept up her face as she drummed her fingers on her slender arm. "But I guess nothing stays the same, now, does it?" Her flawless, creamy skin began to curl into dark scales as bright yellow color pooled in her eyes. She was Mystique, the shape shifter, restored to her original glory. Eric was transfixed by her beauty; this rare mutant specimen with an appearance unlike any other… he thought he'd never be able to see anything like her again. In a way, Mystique had been his muse, his motivation… she'd been the first to believe in his dream. But what no one might suspect of such a siren was that she was a real thinker; she was cunning, strong, poised… all qualities Eric had rarely seen all together in one person. Oh, how he'd missed her.

Mystique chuckled at his obviously smitten expression, and then her expression became filled with gravity as she came closer. "You do know what this means," she said quietly. "Don't you?"

Eric's gaze wandered as he thought. "All the other mutants who were cured…"

Mystique nodded. "I know others. They're all confused. What all of them need is… guidance." At this last word, her gaze fell on Eric, whose dream she had once believed in so fervently… now, again, they were in the same crisis. They didn't know who they were anymore. And she'd come to him because he was the only one she'd ever felt like she could turn to, whether he'd betrayed her or not. After all, why should she hold grudges?

She sat down in the chair he'd just been playing chess in as she scratched her head and groaned. "Everyone who's been cured was either glad or angry at first, but then they saw the other side of things… a lot of people never really got to be treated like humans. And some discovered it was what they wanted, and others discovered it wasn't." She looked up, her ochre eyes focused on Eric as he sat down across from her. "No one knows where to turn. They're mutants again, sure, but… I don't know…"

"They don't feel like they belong to any race now that they've lived as both of them," Eric finished, staring grimly at his old collaborator.

Mystique smiled dryly and shook her head. "I myself am feeling that way." She laughed at the irony of her situation. "Me, the one who was so confident that I didn't have to be anyone but me, because I was—I am—someone who's unique, who didn't care what people thought of her. But now… now I walk around looking like everyone else, because part of me _does _care. I liked when people looked at me like I was nice to look at, instead of staring and all the while thinking I'm a freak." She hid her head in her hands. "I'm torn between two worlds, and I love and hate them both. Do you know how that feels?"

Eric nodded somberly. "I know exactly how it feels." It felt like betrayal, first by those who created and used the cure, and then by the very mutants he'd fought for, who scorned what he'd become… scorned, he thought, part of who he was. When he'd seen this, he'd begun to see the animal living inside each creature… the struggle for supremacy transcending race, transcending ability. The mutants feared the humans, and the humans feared the mutants. But a new problem was at hand… the problem of those in between. But there had to be a solution, and no one would be able to find it but those who were in that in-between place.

Eric reached up and took Mystique's hand. He paused a moment before speaking. "We will find an answer… for everything," he told her. She lifted her head, and a tentative smile graced her features as she saw a familiar gleam in his eye. She knew Magneto was back. "So," she asked quietly, "where do we begin?"

* * *

**Come on in; I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in.**

**I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones that I started looking for a warning sign.**

Ororo mouthed the words absently as she stirred cream into her coffee, watching the little tempest as the white curled and bloomed into the dark liquid. She blew a strand of silvery-white hair out of her eyes between verses before grasping her mug with both hands and putting it to her lips to take a sip. As she sampled her coffee, her eyes darted up at Logan, who sat across from her, flopping his eggs-over-medium around with a fork as he gazed dolefully into the space beyond the tabletop. Ororo concealed a sigh as she set her mug down. It was a small wonder he was acting this way. How could he—how could anyone—forget what day this was? She missed Jean too, more than she ever admitted to anyone… Jean had been her best friend and comrade through all those times. But Ororo had never seen Jean drowning in the struggle over her mind until it was far too late. She still felt the desperation that had consumed Jean's friends and students after her death… wasn't there anything that they could have done? "Why does it have to be this way?" Ororo whispered inaudibly.

**But the truth is I miss you.**

**Yeah, the truth is that I miss you so.**

"I don't know," came a reply from across the table. Ororo gave a start as she realized Logan had heard her. She always forgot about his heightened senses, dammit. It was comical how often Logan caught her saying something that she hadn't meant to be heard by anyone.

As she looked at him, she saw the most intense sadness in his eyes, so deep that it didn't summon tears or even anything other than a neutral expression on his face, just two dark pools of grief. This man that they called the Wolverine, who fought with such beastly viciousness and had always been known as the X-Men's "bad boy," for once did not hold back his entirely human emotions and pains. Though he was fierce, he had cared for Jean deeply.

Ororo found herself feeling sorry for him. "Logan, I… I don't know what to say. Even after all this time—"

"—don't start that with me," he growled. His shields were back up. He was eating his eggs and concentrating on his plate.

"I loved Jean too," Ororo said quietly, keeping her eyes on her cup. "It's hard even now."

"Hard? _You_ think it's hard?" Logan snapped at her as he slammed his palm down on the table. "You didn't kill her."

Ororo closed her eyes and exhaled. "Logan, don't do this, we're all grieving—"

"Enough," he said quietly and waved his hand at her as he stood and began to put his plate away. Ororo could only look on, watching him flounder in a world that she couldn't reach… a world of torment and hurt that only Logan knew, because only he had been the one to really see inside Jean's heart when everything became lost for her. He alone knew about the beasts that raged inside both of them, clawing and tearing at the strands of their minds, fighting to get out in the open… Ororo had never known that. She was the one who was always in control, always on top of things. It was easy for her, even with her mutation. But Logan and Jean had shared something that she had never and would never understand. And now, he was alone again.

Ororo's eyes were filled with tears as Logan began to leave the kitchen. She stared up at him, her mouth open, wanting to speak. "I'm sorry," she choked out in a whisper. "I'm sorry for not understanding." As though it were remediable.

Logan looked back at her pitiful face, and his expression softened ever so slightly. "Don't blame yourself, Storm," he said briefly before walking out. Ororo stood up quickly and went to the doorway. "Where are you going?" she called after him.

"For a ride," he replied without turning around as he walked down the hall. Ororo watched him until he was out of sight, then retreated back to her coffee with a sigh. _God, Jean, if only you were here. If you knew how we missed you…_

**So I crawl back into your open arms.**

**

* * *

**

She woke up and icy fear seized her. She felt vulnerable. She was naked, cold, alone. Trapped in a tiny space. She flailed, beating against it with her arms, felt herself slip on a wet surface, she couldn't get up, she couldn't grip, all she could do was struggle and scream, like an abandoned baby. So she screamed, and she struggled. She thrashed her head around, and she hit the hard, wet surface, sending a shock of pain through the physical matter of her skull. She clutched her head and began to cry as she curled her shivering body into a fetal position. She was confused, helpless. Where was she? What had happened?

_Open your eyes._

The voice that echoed in the chambers of her head was comforting, yet strong. She immediately relaxed. Her eyes flew open, and she wasn't a helpless animal anymore, she was Jean. _In an empty bathtub, _she realized Her head was throbbing. She groaned as she stretched out her legs, her feet squeaking as they slipped along the bottom of the porcelain tub. Where was all the water? Was there any in the first place? Yes, there was. Another throb of dull pain rang through her head, and she winced as she pulled away strands of her crimson hair away from where they stuck to her face. Rolling onto her back, she blinked several times as she looked up at the ceiling and saw that it was effervescing. There was water pooling on it…

"Oh, no," Jean whispered as she realized what was happening. She was in Nightcrawler's bathroom, she remembered that. He'd found her and taken her back to the apartment, and then he'd gone out. But beyond that… nothing.

She sat up and looked around, and her eyes went wide as she saw the mess. The sink was running, and the water from it was flowing up and into the pool that, Jean noticed with a grimace, was floating on the entire ceiling. The mirror was warped and had cracked from the center. Drawers were open, and the contents were scattered everywhere. A clock above the counter was running backward. A flash of memories suddenly came to her. In the bath, washing her feet, singing to herself, God was she a terrible singer… then relaxed, started slipping into the water, hair floating out all around her head, water dripping up, up, up… eyes open suddenly, they are black and her face is terrifying, everything breaking, everything rising, chaos all around, and she's burning with rage… God, why, why, _why_ did it happen!

Jean closed her eyes and hid her face in her hands, grieved and ashamed that she had let the Phoenix take her over. Tears started to flow from her eyes. What was this second chance for if not for her to redeem herself? And already, she was losing control. "Help me, someone…" she sobbed. "Help me."

A glass bottle fell off the counter with a loud _crash_ and Jean gave a start, her grip on her mind slipping for just long enough that all the water that had collected on the ceiling came crashing down. It was freezing cold. Jean gasped loudly as it hit her and she clutched at her body as she collapsed into a new round of shivers. "I h-have t-t-to clean up," she said to herself, stepping shakily out of the tub and pulling the drain. The water on the floor was two inches deep at least, and now there was glass to worry about. She stepped gingerly to the cabinet and looked for a towel, since the bathrobe Kurt had left for her was now soaked. After covering herself with the towel, Jean frantically started cleaning up, wiping tears from her face all the meanwhile. She tried to bail water into the bathtub with little success, and after getting most of the clutter back into the drawers, it still looked as though a hurricane had come through the room. She burst into a fresh round of tears and sat on the edge of the bathtub in defeat and despair.

A knock came on the door. Jean looked up and sniffled. "Kurt?"

"Are you all right in there, _fräulein_? I've been gone an hour," his voice came outside the door.

Jean sobbed audibly, slapping a hand over her mouth after the fact. Silence came from behind the door before it opened a crack and Kurt's dark face poked through, expressing disbelief at the condition of the room. Jean hung her head as she pushed her long hair over her shoulder. "I… I'm really sorry. I lost control…"

Kurt shook his head. "Something is not right with you," he stated. There was no anger in his voice. He stepped into the bathroom carefully and crouched by Jean, putting a three-fingered hand on her shoulder to comfort her. "Hey, it is all right, Jean. We get this all cleaned up, _ja_?" But Kurt was frightened for her inside. He'd never seen this side of Jean; when they were both X-Men she had been strong-willed and powerful. Now, sitting in front of him, crying and wet, she looked as vulnerable and scared as a child. She was not the Jean Grey he'd known. Something had changed her.

Kurt stood up and went to get a mop and some towels. When he returned, Jean looked up at him, blinking away tears. "What can I do?"

For the first time, Kurt became aware that she was wearing nothing but a towel. He looked away, his face feeling hot. "Er… why don't you go change? I bought you some clothes for while your dress is being washed."

Jean's face turned bright pink as she came to the same realization. "Oh, um… yeah." She leaped out of the bathroom to look for her clothes. Soon she returned, wearing a long-sleeved red t-shirt over a white tank top and black peasant skirt, all generically sized items. "Thank you, Kurt," she said as she stepped in and began to help spread towels. She had to admit, they were comfortable, although not in the least what she would usually wear. She'd had a very professional image back at Xavier's. But that, like many other things, was no longer part of her life that she felt the need to control. She had bigger things to deal with, that much was obvious to everyone.

An hour and a hamper of towels later, Jean and Kurt collapsed on the clean, dry bathroom floor. Kurt groaned and rubbed his head. "I have not cleaned so much since I was in the circus," he said with a small laugh.

Jean didn't share his humor. Her eyes were cast down, her now-wavy hair hanging in front of her face, her expression sullen and sad. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Kurt stood up and gently took her arm. "Come, _fräulein,_ we talk in the living room."

Jean nodded and stood up slowly, even though all she wanted was to be left alone.

When they had sat down across from each other, Kurt sighed and folded his hands, much like a therapist, Jean thought with hidden amusement. "What is happening to you?" Kurt asked, his brow creased with concern.

Jean shook her head. "It isn't what's happening; it's what has already happened. I've lost control of my… of my mutation," she finished hesitantly, even though she knew it wasn't her mutation she was losing control of, it was something else entirely; but how could she explain to Kurt that she held within her a wild, chaotic force that could destroy universes and was practically unstoppable?

But he already knew. "No, Jean. Not your mutation. Your power." Jean looked up at him, surprised. "But…" she began.

"I am still in contact with Xavier's Institute. I called them after the Alcatraz disaster, to find out what had happened… they told me about a Phoenix that had taken you over, and that you had to die for it to be stopped." Kurt leaned forward. "But you are here now, and that is what I do not understand."

Jean stared toward the window. "I don't quite understand it… either…" she began, trailing off as she felt a strange pulse of heat go through her head, bringing to the front of her mind hazy snatches of memory, as though she were recalling a dream that had faded through the time she'd slept. Darkness, light, fire and two voices. Another pulse rang through, and Jean concentrated as her fingered hovered next to her temples. It was still hazy, she couldn't quite touch it, but out of that a clear, definite piece of knowledge entered her thoughts. She closed her eyes and let words that weren't hers spill from her lips. "The Phoenix is eternal, because she is life incarnate. She lives, she dies, and she is reborn. She is not bound to the single life of mortals like you. She exceeds evolution; she lives the cycle for all time. She is me, and I am her. We will not perish." Jean's eyes opened and her hand flew to her head. "Wow, where did that come from?"

Kurt was just as amazed. "So you cannot die. Not for good, anyway."

Jean shook her head as an expression of disbelief and horror came across her face. "This can't be happening… why did God choose _me_ to plunge through hell?"

"Jean, you were not given this burden without reason. God has a plan for everyone… he will never give us more than we can handle."

Jean looked heartbroken. "Maybe God forgot about me. I can't contain this thing, no matter what I do. My life's meaningless. All I am is a vessel for death." She hugged her knees to her chest. "I have to die, Kurt. It's the only way to contain this. I have to die, again and again. Forever."

"No… no." Kurt shook his head. "God will never forsake his children."

Jean laughed mirthlessly. "We're mutants, Kurt. We're no children of God. Especially not me."

Kurt looked saddened by this. "Of course you are, whether the world sees it or not. There will be another way for you. You will not need to go on like this. Jean, you can fight this battle. Everyone who knew you has said you were so brave. I think you are." He remembered the way she had given her life to save them all at Alkali Lake. Despite what he hoped, Kurt supposed he would never muster the courage to do something like that.

Jean laughed the louder at this. "Brave? That's ironic," she said, then suddenly became serious. "I guess I was brave sometimes. I was never afraid to put my life on the line. I wasn't afraid to speak up for what I believed in. But, God, if anyone had known how terrified I was of myself, how terrified I was when I began to lose my grip… they would have laughed in my face." Jean's eyes met Kurt's. "Only Charles knew who I was under the surface, and when it all went to hell…" her eyes were filled with tears as she began to shake. "The Phoenix wanted him out of the equation. So she… so _we_ killed him…" she broke at her last words. Charles had been like her father. She'd trusted him to help her control her unruly mind from the time she'd met him, and ultimately what he'd tried so hard to protect her from had lashed out and destroyed her life and all those she loved. Jean hated herself for letting it happen. "I didn't stop her… _why_ didn't I stop her? I'm a murderer!" she cried as she slammed her fist down toward the armrest of the couch. _Bampf_. Kurt was beside her, grasping her wrist. Jean struggled against his grip, but Kurt was surprisingly well-muscled and held her fast. Finally, she relaxed. "I deserve to be locked up," she stated plainly, her gaze resting on a spot on the floor.

Kurt's tail twitched. "It wasn't your fault." He let go of her wrist. "It was _not_ your fault. No one blames you for anything… they understand, Jean."

Silent, bitter tears spilled from Jean's vacant eyes as she stared at nothing. "No. They don't understand." Kurt thought he saw her eyes darken, but she remained straight-faced. "Nobody does or ever will. I am alone." The darkness passed from her eyes as they closed and she leaned her head back, letting more tears flow. "But I'm alive," she whispered, more as a confirmation to herself than anything. "And even though it will probably never come, I'm going to look for a resolution." Her eyes opened again, clear and bright in contrast to the deep blackness that took over them when the Phoenix appeared. She seemed filled with a strange new joy in spite of all the pain that she'd endured, or so it seemed to Kurt as he studied her face.

Jean looked at Kurt and smiled. "I have caused so much pain for everyone… I can't expect anything better than a life of being feared and hated, but I guess hope just doesn't die easily."

Kurt could only nod in silence. He realized that Jean was like a kaleidoscope; there were so many facets to her that he'd only seen the surface of. She was a creature of adult dignity and childlike innocence, of dark despair and (even if she didn't admit it) shining faith, with hidden power and exposed fears, vice-versa and everything in between. She was right. How could anyone understand her when there was so much to know? Kurt suspected that even Charles Xavier didn't know all of Jean. But there was one thing that was plain to anyone: Jean was a fighter. No matter how deep the despair she was plunged into, she would struggle against it, reaching instead for a joy she'd never really known, but always desired.

"Joy… yeah, everyone always talks about joy." Jean had read his thoughts. She looked out the window now as she wiped her tears away. "I want to know what it really feels like… to be happy, to be unafraid, to let my guard down. I want that so badly."

"Ask, and you shall receive," Kurt replied.

Jean shifted her gaze back over to her blue friend, a quiet smile crossing her face. "Thank you, Kurt. You're a good listener," she told him.

Kurt shrugged. "I do my best, _fräulein_."

Jean looked back toward the window. The sun was shining; it was high noon, and her eyes watched with content and wonder as a sparrow perched on the windowsill outside. She couldn't help but think that maybe this resolution of hers was more possible than she'd thought.

* * *

"S-I-G-N-A-G-E. Signage." 

"Jubes, _signage_ is not a word," Kitty snickered as she shook her head. She, Jubilee, Marie and Bobby were playing Scrabble in the living room of the wing they resided in.

Jubilee frowned. "Yes it is! You know, as in, 'they need more signage around to tell us where things are.' It works," she protested, even as the other players all gave her weird looks.

"Just because you add an '-age' to a word doesn't mean it's valid," Bobby said, laughing.

Jubilee rolled her eyes. "Fine, then, _don't _try to expand your vocabulary." She cleared the word off the board and started thinking anew. They all laughed, even Marie, who'd had, to put it nicely, a harrowing time of things recently.

Charles Xavier watched from the doorway with Moira standing behind him, her lab coat hanging on one arm. Even as the teenagers bantered, he noticed Marie was quicker to stop laughing than the others and often when no one was looking her face was even sad. But he smiled to himself. He knew something that would definitely cheer her up. _Marie, when you have a minute I'd like to speak with you,_ he projected his thought to her. She suddenly looked up and back in his direction, startled by his voice in her head. Charles smiled and nodded a hello. Marie turned back to face her friends. "I'll be back in a few minutes, okay guys?" she said as she stood up. "You just play for me, Bobby."

She approached the Professor with a shy, cautious air that she'd always seemed to have, but now had grown again since she'd regained her mutation. The Professor shut the door behind her and Marie leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "Good afternoon, Professor, Dr. MacTaggert," she said, nodding politely.

"Good afternoon, Marie," the Professor replied. "If you'll join us down in my office, Dr. MacTaggert and I would like to discuss some important matters with you."

Marie nodded and pushed her weight off the doorframe as she began to follow them. "I get the feeling I already know," she said under her breath.

They arrived in Charles's office and sat down, Charles at his desk and Moira and Marie in the armchairs opposite him. "Now, I'll start with the facts," Moira began as soon as they were settled, rifling through a file she'd brought with her until she found a form scribbled with notes. "Marie, you were voluntarily injected with a mutation suppressant, more commonly referred to as simply "the cure," on April 9th of last year. That was one year and four days ago. You reported that you hadn't seen any symptoms of your mutation from the time you were injected until yesterday at 8:30 PM, when they appeared to make a sudden and complete return. You reported no unusual circumstance at the time of the appearance. Your mutation is exactly as before, as though you'd never taken the cure The tests I performed on the blood sample I extracted from you have shown that this is not a fluke or side effect, that these are your actual mutant qualities returning. Nor did your body reject the cure, or it would have been much earlier than this. It was just that the suppressant wore away and left your body, and your DNA has been gradually returning to its natural state ever since."

Marie creased her brow, confused. "Gradually? Then how come my powers came back all at once?"

Moira shrugged. "Everyone's body is different. Some people don't show symptoms until late in the process, some show in stages from an earlier point in time. You just happen to be the former."

Marie pursed her lips. "Can I take the cure again?"

"Unfortunately, taking it again will have minimal results. It may work for a week, two, maybe," Moira said as she leaned back in her chair. "But each time you use it, your body will become more used to it and it will work for a shorter time. Eventually it may not work at all." She smiled gingerly at Marie. "I'm sorry, but it looks like the cure isn't an effective option."

Marie nodded, visibly disappointed. "So I guess I'll just have to live with it."

Charles scooted forward now. "That's what _I'm _here to speak with you about."

Marie looked up, confused. Charles cleared his throat and continued. "The cure may not be effective, but there is another option I'd like to explore." He folded his hands on his desk. "I have been researching a way to self-suppress the mutant gene for limited periods of time—to obtain more control, so to speak. But this is a completely new training program, and I haven't had a subject yet to see whether it is as effective as I suppose. Would you be interested in working with me on this?"

Marie's eyes had gradually lit up as she listened to him speak, and now she couldn't conceal her grin any longer. "I… I could learn to control my powers?"

"Hypothetically speaking, you—"

"Of course I'll do it!" Marie cried happily. "Thank you so much, Professor!"

Charles grinned and shook Marie's gloved hand. "You're very welcome, Marie."

"Please, Professor. My name's Rogue," she said with a quiet smirk.

"Ah, yes. Forgive me, _Rogue,_" Charles corrected himself. _And just when I was getting used to calling her Marie,_ he thought with a silent chuckle. "When will you be available for training?"

She thought for a moment. "Just after school hours, pretty much every weekday."

"Well, let's cut that down to Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays after the last class. We'll meet in here. Does that work for you?"

"Yeah," Rogue grinned. "That sounds great."

"All right, then," said Charles. "We will begin tomorrow afternoon."

"If it's all right with both of you," Moira spoke up, "I'd like to sit in, just to see how the training affects you, Rogue. Consider it medical research," she added with a kind smile.

Rogue shrugged. "It's okay with me… as long as I don't have to get jabbed with too many needles," she said with a laugh.

Moira giggled and shook her head. "No, no, only one test periodically; every week or two, depending on your rate of adaptation."

"I guess that's all right," Rogue agreed.

"And I will consent to it gladly, Moira," Charles added.

"Good, good. Well, I'll see you both tomorrow, in here?" Rogue bounced out of her chair, now seeming filled with energy.

"Yes, Rogue; have a good afternoon."

"You bet, Professor!" she said as she practically skipped out of the room. Suddenly stopping in mid-stride, she turned around. "Can I tell my friends about this? Or Bobby?"

Charles hesitated. "Let's keep it quiet for now. Once we get results, then you can let them know."

"Okay," she assented. "See you both later!" Then she ran out the door without another word, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Once Rogue was out of range of hearing, Moira turned back to Charles with a sigh. "This might be a bit risky. Are you sure you're all right with her doing it?"

Charles rested his chin against his hands, his eyes conveying he was deep in thought. "I trust she'll do well. Marie… _Rogue_ is a confident young lady. Her willpower is exceptional, and she seems to be coping relatively well." He straightened up and looked at Moira. "Yes, I'm willing to take that risk with her." But inside, his confidence was faltering. He knew that Rogue was nowhere near as formidable as Jean had been, but despite his hardest efforts he had failed to give Jean what he'd promised: total control. He'd failed one of his first students and closest friends, and he didn't want a precious girl like Rogue to be a repeat of that mistake. But that was why he'd completely redesigned the program he used for control-training. To at least soften, if not silence, the most serious and difficult of mutations. Rogue would be a good, dare he say, guinea pig for this new program. But truthfully, he'd designed it with Jean in mind, so that if anyone else ever came along who was like her, he could help them in a way he'd never been and would never be able to help her.

Moira leaned forward and placed her hand on Charles's arm. "I don't have to be telepathic to know what you're thinking, Charles. I didn't mean to say I didn't have confidence in you, because I do." She smiled. "Rogue will do fine. But _you _need to have confidence in yourself. You can't always dwell on what happened with Jean."

Charles sighed. "I miss her, Moira. Because she was so close to me and because I wish I could have reversed her changes in time." This was the only person he'd ever admit that to. He didn't want anyone else to see his weakness, because he was the leader of the mutant community and he needed to show them strength and resolve. But Jean haunted him day after day, and Moira had always been a close friend. She was the one Charles could talk to.

"I know, Charles… I miss her, too." She laughed as memories surfaced in her mind. "I remember when she was about fifteen or so, and I came to visit the school, and while I was in the kitchen a full plate of food flew off the table into Scott's face. He spent the next hour chasing her around the school and trying to shoot diluted optic blasts at her. Everyone was laughing so hard they couldn't breathe." Her smile faded and she paused as she cast her gaze on the floor. "I miss Scott too."

Charles nodded in concurrence. "We've lost so many important people in our lives, Moira… are we really so old?"

She chuckled a bit at that last comment. "No, Charles. We're not that old. We just have dangerous friends."

Charles laughed quietly as he pulled some not-yet-graded tests out of his desk drawer and tapped them on the surface to straighten them. "Dangerous almost seems like an understatement when it comes to the X-Men." He pulled out his red pen and began on the first paper. "Now, let's see just how 'dangerous' Miss Siryn Cassidy is at Physics…"

He drew in a hard breath as he shook off the sweat that drenched his head and set his helmet down on the handlebars. He dismounted Scott Summers's old bike and took careful, slow steps toward where he knew the trees ended. Everything was silent except his footsteps as he looked around at the scenery, the sunlight cast in splinters on his face, its rays broken by the pine boughs that surrounded him. Behind, the road. It would disappear when he cleared the trees. So he walked forward and through, and the curtain of foliage opened on a familiar scene.

Alkali Lake. The still waters reflected the evening sun and seemed to amplify its light. Below the surface, shattered fragments of its old dam lay still like giant gravestones. Ironically, they were. Or had been.

Logan took in a breath and realized that this must have been the last thing Scott had seen. He often wondered what had happened that fateful day when he and Storm found Jean lying in pristine condition on the rocky shore, surrounded, unbeknownst to them at the time, by the ashes of the man she'd loved… the man she'd killed. Logan felt terrible for it, but he always thought that Scott had distracted and restricted Jean too much… when the Phoenix came out, the first things it had gone for were the two people that had helped beat it into submission the most. He couldn't say he blamed Scott or the Professor for trying to give Jean some stability… but he understood why it had happened. It wasn't as though he'd never been angry at people who tried to contain him. He knew better than anyone what she'd gone through in her mind… playing the horrified spectator while the animal lashed out from inside. He'd understood. And that's why he'd killed Jean… because he'd wanted to save her from that.

He sat down on the shore and splashed the cool, clean water on his face. _But it's hard living here without you around, Jeannie,_ he thought bitterly. He'd done what he'd needed to do for Jean… but was it all he could do? If he had found another way, could there have been a chance at life for her? Since the day he'd met her, Jean had been like his kindred spirit… they shared a bond that was like nothing else in the world. He desired Jean, but more than that, he _loved_ her. Logan had never loved anyone else. Since he'd arrived at Xavier's, he'd learned to care for people. He cared for Rogue and for Storm, and they were two important women in his life. But what he'd felt for Jean was beyond compare. She had made him feel acceptable; she'd been a light in his life. And wish as he might, he would never have taken her away from what she loved… and she loved Scott. Logan was doubly defeated by her death and his unrequited love, and he could barely take it sometimes.

Logan sat a long time on the lakeshore and took in the world's changing colors as the sun fell slowly over the edge of the sky to reveal a deep, crepuscular sky. He felt like his soul was being ripped to pieces day by day. Slowly, the sadness that he'd always blocked out because it made him vulnerable was wedging itself deeper and deeper, threatening to explode on him. It was a pain he couldn't heal, an emotion he couldn't ignore. The damage of losing Jean was irreversible, and it was changing him. Today, it was more painful than ever. It was on days like this that Logan found he couldn't be around anyone else. He was not a man who shared pain with others. _Besides,_ he thought, _they don't deserve to have my issues weighing on them._

Now the sky was long faded into its purest blackness, and the stars were sprinkled abundantly across its canopy. Logan didn't sleep at all, didn't even wonder what time it was or when he should be getting back to the mansion. He only savored the silence, and thanked God for this piece of solitude as he finally allowed himself to cry, to offer up his tears in exchange for a momentary reprieve from the hidden hurt that was razing his spirit. No one would ever see him cry, though. Never, he promised himself as he emptied his rage and despair in a peaceful way for once, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed quietly.

After all the tears he had were gone from him, Logan closed his eyes and drank deep the crisp night air. He was truly, completely alone. He lay his head down on the rocks and looked up at the stars. He could even see distant galaxies mixed in with the millions of single stars that each appeared to stand alone… like him. It was indescribably beautiful that night. "Jean, I wish you were here to see this," he said aloud as he felt himself drifting off to sleep…

Thousands of miles away, Jean saw stars of her own. She stood on the balcony, sleepless, humming to herself, watching the city lights… the ones that blinded the stars in the sky.

_Jean, I wish you were here to see this._

She straightened suddenly and gave a small gasp, her eyes darting around, before she registered that the voice was in her head. But she knew that voice. It made her feel strangely warm. She half-smiled as she wondered…

"Logan," she finally breathed, her eyes closing as she sent her answer away…

_Logan,_ the reply came to him, barely audible, but full of presence, echoing vivdly in his head. _Ah, I'm dreaming,_ he thought. _Must've fallen asleep fast._ "Hey, Red," he mumbled.

Jean's smile grew bigger as she heard the reply, and she touched her fingers lightly to a spot above her temple. "Where are you?"

"I'm at Alkali Lake. You remember, right, Jeannie?" Logan smiled inside. It was a happy dream.

"Yeah, of course," Jean said, a pang of regret piercing her heart. It was where she'd died the first time. She remembered the pain as her body had broken before she'd been wrapped in the calm that came with drowning… and she remembered Scott being vaporized before her horrified eyes as she was trapped inside, screaming, begging mercy from the Phoenix… she didn't want it to ever happen again.

"You should see the stars here," Logan chuckled in amazement. He dreamed he could still see them.

Jean's despair washed away into comfort at the sound of his voice. She closed her eyes and leaned against the railing, imagining a sky speckled with billions of stars. She imagined Logan lying beneath them. "I wish I could. I'll bet it's beautiful."

Logan remained silent for a few minutes, savoring the clarity of her voice in his dream. It was almost like she was there, speaking to him. "I miss you, Jean," he finally sighed. His tone was unmistakably that of someone in love.

Jean felt her heart leap. She grinned, finding herself unable to speak. _I miss you too,_ she wanted to tell him.

"Goodnight," he whispered as he fell into a deep sleep.

"Logan, I'll be home soon…" Jean spoke into the San Francisco night air. But she realized after a few minutes of silence from him that he had already broken the rapport. He hadn't heard her. Sighing, Jean ran a hand through her hair and started to go inside. As she closed the door, she looked back out toward the dark, starless sky and gave one final smile. "Goodnight."

* * *

Hey all! I hope you're liking this so far! I know I'm having a grand time writing it! I've got lots of ideas, especially for toward the end... in the next chapter, I will hopefully introduce some new characters! Oh, and if you're suspicious, just know this is totally NOT a Jean/Kurt thing at all. I just always pictured Kurt as being a good person to talk to. The thing that makes thi time around for Jean different is that she has lots of support... it's really a more optimistic story, despite the tone so far. Please, please, PLEASE review! I'd really like to see some input, and constructive criticism would be fine too! Thanks for reading!

Ithaeli


	4. Normalcy

"Logan? Hey, Logan! Wake up!"

Logan groaned and blinked the sleep out of his eyes before he lifted his head to look grumpily at the person addressing him. Kitty Pryde stood at his feet, her hands on her hips, frowning at him. Logan let his head fall back down and squinted in the bright sunlight. "Whaddya want?" he mumbled groggily. So much for his peace and quiet…

Kitty rolled her eyes. "No one expects you to tell anyone where you're going anymore when you say you're going out, Logan, but it'd be great to at least let someone know how long you'll be gone!"

Logan sat up, grimacing as he felt the tightness forming in the muscles of his back. He rubbed his eyes with his wrist and blinked up at Kitty, who was still looking mad. "All I did was spend the night here. Jeez, you want me to give you the minute I'll be back? I was gone for a few months at one point," he grumbled.

Kitty's eyes narrowed and she looked confused. "What? Spent the night…" she lifted an eyebrow at Logan. "Logan, you've been gone for three days."

Logan's eyes went wide. "What! Holy shi—I mean, holy cow." He stood up, cracking his back and neck gruesomely as he did. Kitty grimaced strongly at the sound. "Do you mean to tell me," Logan asked, "that I've been asleep for two days straight?"

"I… guess so," she shrugged, amazed. "Needed it, did you?"

"Sure… well, yeah. I haven't slept well lately."

Kitty nodded as she drew her lips into a thin line. "Mmhmm. And I imagine this was a very comfortable place to catch up on sleep, given the amount of noise that just came from your back." she suggested with sarcasm.

Logan glowered at his teammate. "Hey, I like it here. Especially at night… man, you've never seen so many stars."

The diminutive teenager stifled a laugh. "Is our big, tough Wolverine getting all mushy over the pretty stars?" she asked with an exaggerated, condescending tone.

Logan's stare was one of death as he quickly extended the claws on his left hand. "You got a problem with that?"

An amused grin burst onto Kitty's face as she waved his annoyance off. She'd learned a while ago not to be scared of him. "I'm kidding, Logan. Are you ready to come back?" Her tone was more imploring than questioning. "Ms. Munroe is waiting in the jet."

He sighed and took one last look around before nodding and retracting his claws. "Yeah. Let's go."

As Kitty led him back to the jet, Logan thought about his dream… it had been such a comfort to think he was hearing Jean's voice. He felt better about everything now, strangely. He had obviously slept well... and now he felt sure that wherever Jean was, she was all right.

"Hey, Logan." Ororo was speaking, looking at him from the pilot seat in front of him. "You doing all right?"

Logan inhaled deeply and nodded, feeling refreshed. "Yeah. I'm good."

Ororo smiled before turning back to the controls. "Glad to hear it."

* * *

"_Yes! That's one more for me!"_

_The young redhead giggled triumphantly as she dribbled a basketball down her driveway. She smiled at her friend as she approached. "Ready, Annie? This is game point. Check me."_

"_Got it," Annie said as she bounced the ball back. The redhead took off, her wavy hair flying in a tangled mass behind her. Annie guarded her tenaciously, but she slipped around and went for the lay-up. As it sank through smoothly, she leaped up and punched the air in victory. "Yes! And Grey nabs the shot!" She started dancing around like a maniac._

_Annie applauded her friend and doubled over laughing. "You're a star, Jean."_

_Jean stopped in mid-step. "Hey, it was really close." She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and let out a whoosh of air. "It's hot out here. I'm gonna get some water. Do you want anything, Annie?"_

_The smaller girl nodded. "Yeah, that'd be great. I'm gonna shoot a few more free-throws out here. Let's play some more when you get back!"_

"'_Kay!" Jean streaked off into the house as Annie shot off her first free-throw with a small jump. The ball went in a few times after that, and then bounced off over her head and into the street. Annie turned and ran after it. "Oh! Oops." She ran and caught up with the ball in the middle of the street. "Gotcha!"_

_Jean came out of the house at that moment. "Annie, I…" she heard squealing brakes. She looked up as the van made contact with her friend, sending Annie flying into the pavement with a sickening _thud._ Jean froze, her hand letting go of the glass, but she found she was off running before she heard it shatter on the pavement. The van was gone, and Annie was lying on the pavement with her head at an odd angle, scraped and bloody. Jean knelt at her side, careful not to touch her, eyes wide and tearing up, her mouth emitting gasping sobs, while the only sound Annie made was that of shallow, struggling breaths. Finally, Jean choked out words between her hyperventilations. "A-Annie! Oh… oh god…are you okay?" She was perfectly aware it was a stupid, terrible question to ask._

_Annie fought to take in a deeper breath. "No…" she cut off as she made a horrible retching sound and a dark pool of blood rose in her mouth and trickled out. Jean nearly shrieked at the sight of it. Annie's eyes were scared. "Help me… Jean…" she reached toward her friend and touched her lightly on the arm._

_Jean reeled backward as she experienced a sensation that felt like a blow to her head. She clutched at her scalp as she watched Annie's eyes begin to fade… and she was inundated by terror, extreme pain, longing for loved ones, fighting for life but losing her grip quickly… Annie's voice was in her head. _Jean, let it go. Let go_. But Jean shook her head. "No… no, Annie, please…" she sobbed as tears flowed down her face. _Goodbye, Jean,_ Annie's voice told her, even though her friend couldn't speak anymore, breathe anymore… Jean found herself saying the words as they resounded in her mind. But they faded abruptly. Annie was gone._

_But that wasn't the end of it. As Jean knelt silently by Annie's body, two voices echoed quietly in her head, then more, more, louder, louder, until there were a million voices all shouting at once, and Jean felt like her head was splitting apart. "No! NO! STOP!" she screamed at them. But they didn't. They shouted, louder still, and Jean felt a trickle of hot blood escaping her left nostril. She squeezed her eyes shut, moaning in excruciating pain. Above the voices a shrill, piercing cry like that of a raptor ripped through her skull, and Jean began to scream in anguish and terror, this time her own. She screamed, and she screamed, and she screamed louder and louder, trying to drown it out, until finally the voices and the cry cut off all at once. The shock of silence reverberated through her small body, and as Jean's limbs went limp all at once, she found she couldn't fight the dark abyss that was swallowing her, and she let go, falling forward…_I'm sorry…

Jean woke in a cold sweat, her fingers white-knuckled, clutching the blanket that she had been sleeping under. She breathed hard for a little while, trying to clear her head of the nightmare and feel her way back into reality. "Just a dream, Jean… it was just a dream," she whispered to herself. Closing her eyes, she vividly recollected the scene… and it made her shudder. "Oh, who am I kidding," she muttered aloud, throwing off the blanket and standing up off the couch to stretch. She'd been having that dream for years, and it was always so plain to remember because it had happened… she'd been ten years old, and the next three years after that had been spent on life support with her worried sister and parents constantly by her side, hoping for a miracle. Often they would walk into a room to find some little thing levitating, or so they'd told her later. They would have accepted the fact that Jean was a mutant in a heartbeat and let her stay, but after she came out of her coma it had been glaringly obvious that something was wrong with her. She was always moody and withdrawn, two qualities that Jean had never shown before. Sometimes all the objects in the house would rise off their tables and shelves, and a few times the tables and shelves themselves did this, at which point her sister, Sara, would rush up to Jean's room to try and calm her. It hadn't taken them long to send for Xavier.

Jean groaned loudly as she stretched out all her limbs simultaneously and then vigorously shook her head. She felt fully awake and well-rested, which she didn't expect after that nightmare. "Hey Kurt, you here?" she called. No answer. "Guess not," she said to herself with a shrug before going to change into her red shirt and a pair of what she preferred to call denim pants (she had always gotten a lot of humor directed her way when she wore 'jeans') that she had bought the day before. She went into the bathroom to brush her teeth, walking around as she did so before she stopped short in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection with a surprised expression. She hadn't really looked at herself in a mirror from the time before the X-Men went to Alkali Lake. After washing out her mouth, Jean continued to stare at herself. She looked… very different. Her hair, which had been short and flipped out, was now down to her ribs, as wavy as it always had been, and a darker red than she remembered having. Even through her shirt, she could see she was lean, muscular and fit.

She combed her fingers through her hair, frowning. "Guess I need to get this cut," she thought out loud. For the moment, she brushed it and put it up in a curly bun on the back of her head. She looked at her face and gave a long, melodramatic gasp. "I need makeup!" she said with more urgency than she meant as she leapt out of the bathroom toward the pair of black ballet flats at the door that she had also bought. She'd pay Kurt back soon, she promised herself. But today was the day she needed to get a job. He couldn't afford rent and her plane fare, and it wasn't fair of her to expect that of him. She had her hand on the door handle as she stopped. "I should leave a note in case he comes back for lunch or something," she mumbled as she grabbed a receipt and pen from off the counter and began scribbling her message. "Out... at 9:45," she repeated as she wrote, glancing at the clock. "Went to… apply for jobs… see you later; Jean." She left it on the counter before she went out the door, locking it as she closed it. Before, she might have done it telekinetically, but now she found she had shoved away every opportunity to use her mental abilities. Except for the few moments she'd shared with Logan the other night, she recalled with a smile. Maybe that's what had made her feel so pleasant for the past few days. She didn't even know how it had happened, that their minds had linked for that short time. It was as unlikely as being struck by lightning. People projected their thoughts all the time in thin little trajectories, but only telepaths like her ever picked up on them. The fact that it had been _Logan_, and that his thought had found its way to _her_ and opened a link in their minds, was baffling to think about.

Jean sighed as she walked down the street with the cash in her pocket that Kurt had lent her in case she needed anything. She knew makeup was a trifling thing to spend it on, but she wasn't going to buy anything else. After stopping in at a Walgreen's and painting her face in the bathroom with the cosmetics she'd just bought, Jean scrutinized herself in the mirror and gave a nod of approval. She knew how to make it look good.

Walking down on Fisherman's Wharf later, Jean had to resist the urge to buy some of the delicious-smelling seafood being cooked on the side of the street. Her gaze wandered lazily, and her breath caught in her throat as she looked out over the bay. It was one of those rare, sunny days, and the sunlight caught the water beautifully. She continued to look at it as she proceeded down to the piers, until she reached the last one… Pier 39. "Hey, I've heard of this place," she said to herself. "Lots of businesses here. Job opportunities…" she raised her eyebrows thoughtfully as she proceeded to browse shops.

* * *

"Concentrate, Rogue… just relax."

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, reaching out her hand to touch the potted wildflower that Xavier had brought for their third day of training. Her fingertips settled on it, and Rogue visualized her life energy flowing out to it. Out her head, down her arm, through her fingertips. It remained about five seconds before the plant began to shrivel. Rogue gasped and quickly withdrew her fingers. "Shoot," she muttered as her face took on a pout. "I didn't even break my concentration this time…"

Charles smiled at her from his chair as Moira jotted an addition to her notes for that day. "You are doing better, Rogue. Your control has improved. If all goes as planned, you will barely have to think about it eventually." He looked at the clock. "Well, we must be done for the day. Have a pleasant evening." Rogue stood and nodded, still looking discouraged as she left his office. "You too, Professor."

"G'night, Rogue," Moira called.

"Night, Dr. MacTaggert," Rogue replied before shutting the door.

She had barely taken a breath before she ran into Bobby, who leaned his side against the wall a few feet away from the door she had just come out of, his hands behind his back. Rogue stifled a startled gasp when she saw him, but he only smiled the sweet, shy smile she loved. "Hey there," he said.

"Hey yourself," Rogue joked, grinning. She tried to conceal her anxiety behind her broad smile. "How long have you been here?"

Bobby shrugged. "Not too long. A few minutes, maybe." He could see the apprehension behind her eyes. "I didn't hear anything," he quickly amended.

"Oh, that's good," Rogue practically sighed with relief. "I mean… we were just going over some personal matters, but I didn't want anyone else to hear." She relaxed and then noticed his posture with a raised eyebrow. "What's behind your back, Bobby?" She sauntered over to him, playfully trying to sneak a peek at his hidden object, but he managed to avoid her scrutinizing eye. "You'll have to stop trying to look," he told her.

Rogue backed off, giggling mischievously. "Okay…" she said, waiting.

Without another word, Bobby brought out a small, gift-wrapped box with a sweep of his hand. "For you, my dear," he said with teasing charm and handed the box carefully to his girlfriend.

Rogue smiled brightly. "Aw, thank you!" She flashed him a cute grin that made his heart melt. "Can I open it now?"

Bobby nodded in approval and Rogue tore the packaging right off and lifted the lid off the box. Inside, sitting on plush black velvet, were two diamond drop-shaped earrings that were of undeniably high quality. Rogue's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. "Oh, Bobby…" she said softly.

Bobby didn't know how to judge her reaction. His stomach turned a few times. "Do you like them?"

Rogue looked up, her face still wearing unreadable shock that gradually turned into delight. "Are you kidding? I love them!" She laughed joyfully and threw her arms around Bobby, hugging him tightly. "Thank you so much."

"Uh…" Bobby started, his body almost tensing up and his heart beating hard. He waited for the familiar pain of life draining out of him as her bare arms clutched at him and the soft skin of her cheek lay on his neck. But it didn't come. She continued to hug him, not even noticing. He blinked in surprise and hugged her back. When they broke away, still nothing had happened to him. But he wondered whether he should say anything. For the moment, he held his tongue about it. "Y-you're welcome. I saved all year just to get you those; I thought you'd like them because when we've gone shopping before you always stop by jewelry places—"

He broke off as Rogue planted a brief, hard kiss on his lips. She was smiling. "You're the greatest." She started to take her hoops out of her ears and replace them with the drops. "Well," she asked when finished, "how do they look?"

Bobby thought she'd never looked more beautiful to him in his life. "They look beautiful," he said, then looking into her eyes he smiled softly. "_You _look beautiful."

Rogue's face turned a bright red of which, Bobby noted with amusement, he'd never seen the like. "Stop, you're embarrassing me," she giggled. She looked down at her hands and gasped slightly. "I should put my gloves on," she said as she pulled them out of her pocket and slipped them on deftly. She reached out to grab Bobby's hand and as they started walking, she realized something. When she had hugged him…

She dismissed the notion with a toss of her head that she made look like she was flipping her hair over her shoulder. If she mentioned it to anyone, it would be to Professor Xavier. "So," she said with a smirk toward Bobby as they continued to go down the hall, "what should we do this afternoon?"

"I don't know. We could go join the other kids for that foosball tournament in the rec room, we could go for a walk, take a spin in the Danger Room… take your pick."

Rogue laughed. "Let's rule out that last one…"

"Aw, but it's so much fun."

"Maybe for you, Mr. I-Froze-Pyro."

"Hey, now, don't get me started on that…"

* * *

"I'm back! You get my note, Kurt?" Jean walked into the apartment and closed the door quietly behind her.

Kurt looked up from his Bible in time to see Jean shedding her shoes at the door. "_Ja._ Thank you for leaving it. But you don't have to go out and look for a job, Jean."

Jean flashed him a grin. "Not anymore." She came around to sit down on the couch opposite him. "I just got one."

"Oh. Well, congratulations," Kurt said sincerely despite his earlier comment. "What is it?"

Jean started to tell him several times, but dissolved into giggles each time. Finally, she took a deep breath and let it out in one long string. "I'm a waitress at the Hard Rock Café. Can you imagine?" she trailed off in louder laughter this time. "Dr. Jean Grey, former X-Woman, at the Hard Rock Café. Look what I've been reduced to," she said between bouts of laughter, while behind it she found herself thoroughly bemused. She missed her old, stable life with a good job, a noble cause, and a less-than-hostile relationship with people in general. Now she felt on-edge all the time, like she had to watch her every step or she'd trip and fall back into oblivion, meanwhile scrambling to put some semblance of her life back together.

Over all her thoughts, Kurt nodded in approval. "I'm sure you make a fine waitress, Jean. You can use your power to take orders before they even tell you," he joked.

Jean shook her head, even though she knew he was joking. "No, Kurt, I'm just not ready to use my telekinesis yet. I'm afraid it'll spiral out of control. Same with telepathy." She hadn't told him about the incident with Logan.

"When do you think you will?" Kurt asked casually.

Jean hesitated. "I don't know if I'll ever be ready. More than anything I just… just kind of want to lose it all," she said quietly.

Kurt looked at her with sorrowful eyes. "Jean…"

"I'm gonna get the paper," Jean said, getting up and going out the door as though the exchange had never taken place. Kurt shrugged it off and marked his place in Romans so he could converse better when she returned. His complacency was quickly broken again by the look on Jean's face as she stepped in the door, her eyes glued on the front page side-header. Her features were grave and a frown creased her brow as she stood and stared at it, her lips mouthing words Kurt couldn't make out. "Jean?"

She looked up at him, her eyes wide in shock. "The Mutant Registration Act has been reintroduced in the Senate."

Kurt's face turned terrified. "_Nein…_so soon?"

Jean nodded gravely as she sat down again. "Senator Gyrich is the one pushing it this time." She rubbed her forehead and sighed. "I can't believe this… I thought mutants and humans might've had an understanding of each other by now. I thought the war was over."

Kurt shook his head. "_Nein, _in fact there is more tension between them since the occurrence at Alcatraz."

Jean's shock grew visibly greater. "What?"

"The humans suspected us to be dangerous. With all the people killed by the Phoenix, they saw their suspicions confirmed. They saw destruction with no need, no cause, by a mutant." Kurt didn't realize he should have stopped long before that.

Jean's expression was unreadable. She nodded and, without a word, stood to go shut herself out on the balcony. It was only there she let her tears fall. She couldn't escape it; she was the one who kept this conflict going, and she'd never known.

_Aww, poor Jean. Yes, we should all pity the mindless killer, shouldn't we?_

Jean could feel darkness biting at the inside of her. "I hate you," she said passionlessly.

_No you don't. What a pathetic thing to say._

"Leave me. Go ruin some other world. One without any people."

_If I leave, you'll die. Don't you get it, Jean? You and I are part of each other, whether you like it or not. _

Jean thought she heard a third voice mingled with the venom-laced utterances of the Dark Phoenix inside. It was barely a whisper in her mind, but it sent a different fire through her body, a tingle of light. _I'm sorry, Jean,_ it said.

Jean breathed deeply as more tears rolled down her cheeks. "I'd rather die than kill any more people."

_They would have killed you._

"No."

_Jean, they DID kill you!_

"Out of mercy. Out of safety. I care more about the world than I do myself, and they knew that."

_If you care so much, _the voice was dripping with sarcasm now, _then why are you still here? You know you'll have to let me out eventually. You don't have that kind of control, no matter how much you think you do._

Jean felt anger flare in her veins—her own, not Dark Phoenix's. Defiant anger scattered with hope. She slammed her hand against the railing and gripped it tightly. "I'm here," she said with more confidence, "because I know I can beat you. Now shut up," Jean commanded flatly.

And Dark Phoenix said no more.

Jean let out a breath as she leaned against the railing. "I will _not_ give in to despair… I will make it through this… there has to be a way." She felt her eyes well up with tears again, but wiped them away with her hand before they fell. She was the reason the war wasn't over… but maybe she could help end it.

* * *

Well, due to some comments about not updating often enough, I've decided to shorten the chapters and I can put them up more frequently that way  , and I've changed it so that the former prologue is just chapter 1 now (to make it less confusing). Thanks for all your reviews! Now in the next one I PROMISE new characters… 


	5. Cry Out

In a small church on a Monday morning, a multitude of people was standing and waiting for a promised answer.

Mystique's eyes scanned the bustling crowd slowly. Some she recognized, some she had just met, but most of them she didn't know yet. All were there for the same reason, though. Among the mutants she knew were teenager Sam Guthrie and his little sister Paige, a Cajun fellow by the name of Remy LeBeau, and Mystique's friend and coworker Emma Frost. She had invited them all to this meeting because their story was the same as hers.

"Are we ready?" a voice asked quietly from behind as a hand fell on her shoulder.

Mystique nodded without turning around. "I think everyone's here who's going to be. Pretty good turnout, if I do say so."

"Yes," the voice replied with a hint of a sly smile. "Go ahead, dear."

Mystique walked up in front of the crowd and raised her hands to quiet them. After a few seconds the noise died to nothing, and she spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen," she said. "I am proud to present you with a great man today. He is the leader for our generation. He brings with him a promise of hope in a time of turmoil and confusion. He is ready to lead us into the future… a future of understanding between mutantkind and mankind. Allow me to introduce Eric Lehnsherr… Magneto." Mystique stepped aside to stand next to Emma as the crowd applauded and Eric stepped up to the pulpit. Emma leaned over toward Mystique. "You sure about this? From what I read in the news he seems like a nut," she said in low tones.

Mystique smiled, never looking away from Eric. "You don't know him like I do."

Eric raised a hand for silence and began. "Welcome, my brothers." He sounded just as he always had. "You all have probably felt the anxiety that has risen in the American people between mutants and _Homo sapiens_. In the past year alone, the tension has risen. More mutations have been discovered, more children forced to leave home. The mutant registration act has been reintroduced in Congress. _Homo sapiens _are on the march."

Utterances went up in the crowd. Emma turned to Mystique again. "Here we go with the war against humanity," she muttered sarcastically.

But Eric continued. "Even so… it has come to my attention that the humans are not the only ones perpetuating this conflict. There have been more recorded instances of mutant crimes and misdemeanors in the past year than ever before. I speak also of myself when I say that there are too many mutants who are abusing their abilities and not using them to better conditions." He smiled. "But that, my brothers, is where we come in. Have we not seen both sides of the equation now? We were mutants, but then, whether by force or willingly, we were 'cured.' If only for a little while, we joined the _Homo sapiens_ society. And you are all here today, because you feel you don't know which way to turn. Am I right?" The crowd gave a murmur of acknowledgement. Eric nodded. "I am here to present you with this idea: we are the missing link," he spoke slowly and heavily. "We have known what it is to be human, and we have known what it is to be mutant. If we can help the other side gain an understanding, we can help to end this war. Go talk to your human friends, your mutant friends; tell them all what you know." He looked up toward the glass window in the front of the church. "We have learned what others cannot, and we must do something with the knowledge we have gained. Let us end the fighting. Brothers, are you with me?"

Applause came from the crowd and Eric smiled as he waited for it to die down. "We shall meet again here next week at this time. Brothers, have no fear. We are creating a dream."

_Or perhaps redefining yours, Charles,_ he thought to himself as he watched the crowd disperse later. Mystique approached him, followed by a woman with platinum blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. "That was great, Eric," Mystique told him.

"Pretty decent," the blonde woman added.

Eric nodded. "Thank you. And who might you be, miss?"

"Emma Frost; some people call me the White Queen," she said curtly.

"Ah. And what is your power?"

_Better not be thinking any dirty thoughts, _Emma's voice came loud and clear through his head. Eric rubbed his temple in surprise. "A telepath? How fortunate," Eric said with a small smile.

Emma lifted an eyebrow. "Raven tells me you're some kind of living magnet?"

Eric lifted a hand and a cast-iron candelabrum floated over to him easily. "Otherwise known as Magneto. I can manipulate all kinds of metal," he said as he caught the candelabrum in his hand.

Emma finally cracked a smile. "It'll be a pleasure working with you."

* * *

**Beep… beep… beep… beep…**

_Wow, that's the quietest alarm I've ever heard…_

Jean rolled over with a sleepy groan and squinted blearily at the alarm clock she'd set by the couch to wake her up that morning. It continued to beep timidly until she poked the snooze button with her finger. Jean let her arm and head drop as a drowsy protest to the clock that read 7:30 A.M. and complained unintelligibly into her pillow. Finally, after a few minutes, she raised her head and grabbed a piece of paper on which she'd sketched the room from her view on the couch the night before. Jean had decided that she would track the development of her unconscious telekinesis by noting when objects had been moved overnight. This morning, she saw that several of Kurt's books had fallen onto the floor; some were even scattered on her side of the room. She sighed, shaking her head. It might be a long time before there was a night she didn't have dreams that affected her mental control. She didn't even remember what her dreams were, but sometimes foggy snatches of when her telekinesis began to slip passed through her memory, not as though she was doing it, but as though she was watching herself dream in motion.

Jean stood up and swayed groggily before picking up the books and stuffing them back onto the shelves. She once ran her hand through her hair, but her fingers slipped off surprisingly quickly—she had cut her hair to just past her chin, but this time she added some sideswept bangs, which she found herself constantly blowing out of her eyes. She still wasn't used to having her hair short again, but she thought it still looked better than the super-long mass of waves that she'd had previously. And she wanted to make a good impression at work, no matter how little time she was keeping the job.

_That's right,_ she thought. _It's my first day at work. That's why I set an alarm._ Feeling slightly annoyed at herself for her blank-mindedness, she found the pile of clothes she had folded in the corner for that day and headed off into the bathroom to shower. "Good morning, Jean, good _morning,_" she muttered in a somewhat grumpy tone before shutting the door.

* * *

It was a rather rainy day, he saw as he glanced out one of the windows while walking briskly down the hallway. The quiet atmosphere that occurred while all the students and staff were in school was sometimes unnerving, sometimes peaceful to Logan. Today seemed like more of a peaceful day, probably because he'd felt what everyone would term "uncommonly calm" for the past week or so. No one could attribute anything to his change in demeanor, either; everyone just knew that he'd been different since he returned from his brief hiatus. But today, even though Logan was still comparatively passive, he was in a hurry. 

Swinging the door open wide, Logan entered the classroom and glanced up at the clock. 10:08. He was six minutes late, and he could never figure out or get an explanation as to just why second-hour classes began at 10:02.

The Professor smiled at him, unsurprised at Logan's abrupt entry. "Good morning, Logan. So glad you could join us." At this, several students giggled quietly.

Logan nodded unsmilingly as he took his seat at the desk where he did his work as the Professor's second-hour aide, a job he'd been required to fill a while back in exchange for staying in the mansion. "Morning yourself, Chuck. Morning, everyone," he murmured before turning around to get to work grading the remainder of the physics tests the students had taken the week before. It seemed like only a few minutes before he heard the Professor saying, "Well, it seems we're out of time. We'll continue the lesson tomorrow, and after that we'll begin reviewing for the final exam. Have a good day, everyone!"

Logan circled the last few mistakes and wrote the test grade on the top of the last paper as the students filed out of the classroom to go on their break. He walked over and flopped the stack of papers onto the Professor's desk. "Just got the last one done," he said.

"Wonderful; thank you, Logan," the Professor said. "Now I can hand them out sooner than expected." He continued to stare at Logan with a telltale, knowing glint in his eye. "So, just how was your trip to Alkali Lake?"

Logan could sense him trying to pry, but he didn't put his guard up. If there was anyone he could trust in his life, it was the Professor. But he also knew that he didn't read other minds without specific permission or emergency, so Logan knew he must have set him off somehow. "Why do you ask?" He really wanted to know.

"Everyone is buzzing about how differently you've been acting since you returned. You left with pain and anger on your heart, I know that much, but now people tell me you seem to be… unusually at peace. I've noticed a difference in your attitude myself, Logan." Charles leaned forward in his chair. "It's not like me to pry into a person's business, but in this case I feel it may be important. You've gone to Alkali Lake several times since Jean's death, but this time…" Charles left off, knowing Logan saw his point.

Logan hesitated as he tried to find the words to explain just what he thought had happened. "I… I had a dream. About Jean."

Charles's eyes narrowed. "And?"

Logan shook his head and smiled at the memory of her voice. "She was speaking to me. I couldn't see her, but in my head I could hear her talking. It didn't seem like a dream, but, y'know, it had to be because she's…" his smile faded as he trailed off.

Charles looked increasingly intrigued. "What did she say to you?"

Logan shrugged. "We were just talking. I told her where I was, she said she remembered it, wished she could see the stars. Man, the stars were incredible. But…" he frowned as he suddenly remembered something, but then waved it off. "Nah, forget it," he said to himself.

But Charles pressed him. "Tell me."

Logan shrugged again and laughed. "Just before I stopped dreaming, I thought I heard her say she was coming home. But it was probably just wishful thinking. It was only a dream anyway. It just… it was nice. To think I was hearing her voice."

Charles leaned back in his chair, his face frowning as he wondered… _Coming home… no, it couldn't be… _He looked up at Logan, temporarily pushing the thought from his mind. "You loved her, didn't you," he sighed, saying it as more of a statement than a question.

"I miss her every day," Logan said, his eyes visibly filled with longing, though the rest of his face was neutral.

"So do I." Charles looked up at the clock. "Well, the break is almost over. Forgive me for keeping you, Logan."

"No worries, Chuck. Nice talk," he replied gruffly as he walked out the door. "Smell ya later."

"Goodbye, Logan." The Professor said politely, though his smile faded abruptly afterward into a pensive frown as he rested his chin in his hand.

He would be checking up on Cerebro that evening.

* * *

It was the first time she'd ever seen a Hard Rock Café so empty and so silent. Jean walked through the threshold and closed the door silently behind her as she looked about apprehensively. "Hello? Anyone here?" she called out. Hearing no answer, she decided to look around. Of course there were the classic rock n' roll pop art displays, along with a few caricatures of celebrities hanging on the walls. But before she could decide what her favorite was, she heard footsteps behind her. Whirling around, Jean saw the manager, with whom she had interviewed, coming to greet her. "Hi!" Jean said with a smile that was surprisingly enthusiastic despite how early it was for her. "I'm Jean Grey, the new waitress, you remember? I'm here for training." 

"Yeah, I remember you. I like your new haircut," the manager commented. Before Jean could thank him, he went on. "Now, I actually have a lot to take care of right now, so actually one of the other waitresses is the one who'll be training you." As if on cue, another woman stepped out from the kitchen. She was almost as tall as Jean, with straight, shoulder-length brown hair, and Jean noted as the woman looked up at her that she had remarkable jade-colored eyes. She smiled briefly and nodded at Jean as they shook hands. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Lorna Dane; I'll be waitressing with you."

"Jean Grey; it's nice to meet you too." the other said with a kind smile. Lorna noticed the contrast of her short but fiery-colored hair and true-green eyes, and she perceived with a twinge of jealousy that Jean was stunningly beautiful. "Come with me," she said as she walked back into the kitchen. "First we need to give you a map of all the tables, and then get your shirt size…"

Five hours later, all but a few tables were occupied and Jean was waiting on two. During the intervals where neither she nor Lorna had anything to do, Lorna came by to give her pointers. "If an order gets messed up, you bill them for the one they ordered in the first place instead of the one they received. It's the polite thing to do." The shorter girl walked past into the kitchen and came out again quickly balancing a tray of food. "Oh, and if any of the guys start giving you crap… well, just ignore them." She shrugged before breezing away to a table.

Jean frowned at this comment. _"Giving me crap?" What the heck is that supposed to mean?_ she thought to herself as she went into the kitchen to grab a set of orders. She began to go out past the bar and heard a man's slurred voice saying, "Get a load of her! Now that's what I call eye candy!" But she ignored it… until she was surprised with a mild slap on the backside. She whirled around, seething. Her expression was considerably darkened. "Watch it, jerk," she hissed through clenched teeth. The men at the bar began to laugh loudly and she felt the urge to punch one of them, but she was stopped by a firm hand on her arm that led her away into a corner of the room. Jean turned around to face Lorna, who looked stern, but not angry. "Chill, dear. They're drunk; they don't mean anything by it. To them you're just a hot piece of ass." She smirked and patted Jean on the shoulder. "Like I said, just ignore them. You have a job to do." With that, she slipped past Jean and back toward the kitchen.

Jean sighed as she looked back at the tray she was carrying. She knew she'd have to tell herself over and over that despite the boredom, perpetually sickening smell of food all over her and now the _humiliation_ coming into play, she needed this job if she was ever going to get home. _Besides,_ she mused as she served up meals, _that Lorna girl is nice enough_. And friends were very good to have in these difficult days.

Soon enough, her shift was over. Jean let out a huge sigh and leaned up against the wall as the clock changed to 1:00. "Thank goodness." She gathered her belongings, washed up, and went out the door to go to the cable car station. Lorna was just outside, waiting. Jean blinked and smoothed her hair back as she saw her. "Hey there."

Lorna nodded a reply. "You going to catch the cable car?"

"Yeah; I guess I need to get a pass for the next few months."

Lorna frowned. "Oh? You're only staying till the end of the summer?"

Jean nodded as they started walking. "Yeah. I just need plane fare and a little spending money. I'm sort of… stranded. Staying with an old friend."

"Jeez, that sucks," Lorna said sympathetically. "But what's this I hear about you being, like, a doctor or something? Or was the manager just pulling my leg?"

Jean laughed nervously. "Nope, I have a medical degree. I was a live-in doctor at a boarding school back east. I was also a guest speaker in the U.S. Senate a couple of times." She shook her head, smiling. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to brag."

Lorna looked more than a little awestruck. "No, really, that's amazing! What did you speak on?"

Jean almost came right out and told her, but remembered what Kurt had said about anti-mutant sentiments being on the rise again. She didn't know who she could trust. "Uh… I lobbied for a human rights organization. It wasn't really anything official," she lied, hoping that was a good enough explanation.

Apparently it was. "Cool. Well, I'm sorry you had to settle for this kind of work. It's not exactly enlightening," Lorna replied with a dry laugh. "I'm just here so I can get through college. I'm almost finished with my senior year. After that… I don't know. I'm not sure what kind of opportunities I'll have." Jean thought she saw fear behind her eyes, but it passed too quickly to be sure, and she wasn't one to pry. Lorna looked at Jean and shrugged. "I might be a teacher. I'm double-majoring in mathematics and education."

Jean nodded in approval and smiled. "That sounds great. Why wouldn't you have a lot of opportunities? They need math teachers nowadays."

Lorna bit her lower lip and looked away. "Not sure I'm the kind of person they'd want to hire." Her jade eyes blinked and looked up as they approached the cable car station. "So, wanna go buy your pass and I'll save you a place in line?" she asked rhetorically, sweeping away before Jean could speculate about her prior comment.

"…Sure," Jean muttered as she waved the exchange off mentally and began digging in her pocket for cash.

_Jean._

A faint, nearly indecipherable whisper that Jean felt only too comfortable to ignore. It happened so often, her detecting muffled utterances from the beast when it became impatient, but she had learned to quickly block them out. So she did, setting shields in her mind that she knew would contain her inner rage. Jean continued to wear a pleasant expression as she took her change and pass from the man behind the counter. She walked back to get in line for the cable car next to Lorna.

_Don't be a fool._ It was louder this time and more direct. Dark Phoenix was awakening her anger. Jean tried to hide the apprehension behind her eyes as she tried desperately to think of somewhere she could be completely alone in the entire city, and if there was anywhere, how fast might she have to get there? She felt Dark Phoenix's instinctive fury sparking beneath her skin. Her head began to throb. There was no place to go.

_Look at all these people. You see them, don't you? Staring at us. They know who we are. They'll try to hurt you, and what will you do when that happens?_

_Enough,_ Jean spat back, even as she tried to make pleasant conversation with Lorna.

_No. It isn't enough, because you still don't know!_ It screamed at her now._ KILL THEM! _ Jean felt her mind being violently shoved into everyone else's around her. Their thoughts were captured by her mind even as she tried to withdraw. But Jean was fighting only herself, she realized with horror, and she found one part of her wanted to know more than the other didn't. And while fighting others with her mind was draining, she found that fighting herself was just hopelessly masochistic. But finally, through all the thoughts she found swirling in her brain, Jean came to grasp, to her agony, that the Phoenix was right… they knew her, and they hated her. And this moment of weakness was all that the beast needed to break free of the cage Jean had put her in.

Lorna's smile disappeared quickly as Jean's speech trailed off and her expression became stricken with pure terror. "Jean?" she asked hesitantly. "What's wro—" she was cut off by screams as everyone around her suddenly clutched their heads. Lorna barely had time to look confused before a pain seared through her own head like a red-hot iron. She gasped in shock and closed her eyes as she sank to the ground. She looked up at Jean, only it… wasn't her. Her eyes were black and frightening, her face dark and showing dark purple veins that made her look monstrous. "You can't be…" Lorna whispered shakily before she blacked out.

At that moment, Charles Xavier's thought was streaming through the machine that was Cerebro. He barely had to search before he was thrown at an image that sent a shiver of emotion on both ends of the spectrum up his spine. There was Jean Grey, at a cable car station by the San Francisco Bay… exactly as he'd last seen her. Terrifying, beautiful, powerful and overcome by a force that could only be cosmic in nature… and she was hurting people around her. Without thinking, Charles projected his thought past Cerebro and skillfully reached the mind of Jean Grey, thousands of miles off and enveloping a space no other mind could have. After plowing through her memories from the time she awoke, he quickly learned her condition. He knew there was to be no convincing… he had learned his lesson the first time. Instead, he quickly and forcefully put blocks in her mind, one after another, doing all that was possible for him to do. Through Cerebro, Charles could see Jean now wavering between being in control and out of control. Her eyes flashed green and black; she cried out in the pain of Charles's invasive telepathy. He was careful not to ever give away who he was or where, but only focused on the task of tying down Dark Phoenix until Jean could get a handle on it herself. Finally, he saw her sink to her knees, worn out by the fight he knew she'd been having with herself. Her eyes were green for good now.

Charles felt himself sigh heavily, tired from the effort it had taken to break down the Phoenix. He used the last of his telepathic strength to wipe memories of the event from all those at the station and collapsed onto the console inside Cerebro, breathing heavily as he took the headgear off. He heard the door open behind him, but didn't make any effort to acknowledge the presence immediately. He was wrapped now in his thoughts; there were so many questions to be answered, so many wrongs to be righted. He needed to sort through all this. He would take a little time alone, perhaps.

Ororo Munroe came upon the Professor and was surprised at what she saw. He was shaking, sweating, leaning against Cerebro's console. _Exhausted._ Ororo had never seen Charles look that way, except when he'd been mentally poisoned by the Brotherhood. She'd always thought his power was so extensive she'd never see its limits. But seeing him like this was new. It worried her. She went up and put a hand on Charles's shoulder. "Are you all right, Professor?" she asked in earnest. "You don't look well."

Charles turned his head and nodded to Ororo, his lips forming a half-hearted smile. "Yes, Ororo, I'll be fine; thank you. I just… need some rest," he finished with a grunt as he pushed himself to standing. Ororo smiled kindly and supported him as they both made their way out toward the elevator.

* * *

Jean knelt on the ground, stunned. One moment she had lost all control, now she felt like herself again… she had no idea why, but she knew that her head hurt more with every sound she heard, and her heart felt like it weighed ten thousand pounds. 

She had done it. She had hurt people. Without ever wanting to, without any conscious or subconscious desire to take out her anger on any of them. But, God… she'd heard their thoughts. They were so hateful, but more than hate it was fear that drove them. Her defensive nature had kicked in… but the words that Dark Phoenix had spoken inside her mind were not all of instinct. Jean knew. She felt it. There was hot, furious evil living within her. Scraping at tearing at the walls that were her humanity… not only to survive, but to wreak some malevolent chaos which was hidden from her. And Jean thought, _No, this can't be me. It isn't me. It isn't me._

So she stood up and let the pain rush through her head, and she ran. Ran, and ran, and ran. Away from the people who hated and feared her, away from the torture that was her own device. She desperately wanted to think she was running away from the darkness that had smothered her only a minute ago, but then, she knew it didn't matter where she went. It would always follow its vessel, and of all the misfortunes in the world, Jean's was the worst because it was _her._ But she still ran, all the way until she arrived back at Kurt's apartment and collapsed wordlessly onto the couch to cry away the afternoon's events, because a strand of her still said tomorrow was another day.

* * *

Emma Frost stood with her mouth gaping as she twirled her hair on one finger. What she had just seen was probably the most bizarre scene she'd come across in her lifetime. People were just waking up, groaning, complaining and rubbing their aching heads. When she finally found the words, all she could say was, "What the hell was _that!_" 

Mystique crossed her arms and exhaled slowly. "_That_ was something I didn't expect to see again." She walked off in the direction opposite the scene. "Guess times really have changed," she said under her breath, doing very well at hiding her shock at seeing Jean Grey alive again.

Emma remained, frowning at the scene below her as Mystique walked off, then finally turned away long enough to follow. The feeling she was left with was unsettled. As she'd skimmed over their minds, she saw that they didn't remember any of it.

* * *

"What's that, dear?" The man cocked an eyebrow at her, but the only sound in the room was the hum of machinery and the consistent, slow beeping of a vital signs monitor. The girl he seemed to be speaking to was lying prostrate and seemingly unconscious on a gurney, with several IVs stuck in her arms and various medical equipment hooked up to her body, including a large tube which fed into the base of her neck. But the man nodded. "I see… didn't anticipate that kind of interference. Phoenix rises again." Behind his glasses, his eyes were a cold gray, chilling even as he smiled. He stood up and walked to the window, with a view of what looked like an empty warehouse. "We may have to start cleaning in a different place. Oh, of course," he said as though confirming someone. "Of course. Once they get back." He checked his watch. "Should be any time." He turned suddenly to the girl, looking surprised. "What? Now?" 

Precisely at that moment, the warehouse gave a loud groan as the far wall began to lift up. Outside in the snow stood two huge, sleek mechs that carried something unseen in their arms. The man in the room above grinned. "Good. Looks like happy hunting. Go ahead and drop them." At the sound of his voice, even though it didn't seem as though they could hear it, the mechs deposited their plunder on the floor of the warehouse-- broken bodies of barely-alive people. The man's expression was serious. "Now we just need the government's O.K." He turned to the comatose girl again. "You can do that, can't you? You've got Congress." He listened into the silence and then turned back to the window to watch the mechs. "Atta girl. But let's give them a cushion of… oh, let's say two months. Just for the sake of comfort." He picked up the phone and began to dial.

* * *

Yay! Now things get fun! Hope you liked this chapter; I worked long and hard. Heehee. I hope Magneto's speech sounded not-too-cheesy... I don't think I like writing inspirational speeches for causes that don't actually exist. Heh. Oh well. I may not be updating for a while and if that is the case, I'm sorry. I'm going on a trip this coming weekend and after that will be moving to college and starting school and juggling work with that. I'll be veeery busy. But I will try to write as much as I can. Considering I'll be taking a fiction writing course, I may just use this as an excuse for writing! If I can... we'll see. Anyway, hasta la vista! Be good while I'm away! 

Ithaeli


	6. Threshold

She glanced up at the clock wistfully, then back down as more liquid dripped out of one flask and into another. Rogue heaved a huge, dramatic sigh as she rested her chin in her hand. "This is by far the most boring lab we've done all year," she mumbled to Bobby, who sat on the other side of the lab table, tapping his pen on his kneecap. He simply nodded in agreement as he stared at the flask. It was the last of several titration labs that they had done in chemistry for the past few days, and both of them were thankful for that fact.

"I think this is the longest we've had to wait so far," Bobby said matter-of-factly before shifting his position and looking up at his girlfriend, who was playing with one of the white streaks in her hair and looking painfully bored. "So where are you going after this?" He tried to sound nonchalant about it, but he'd noticed that Rogue wasn't able to spend time with the gang after school as much those days.

She shrugged, but didn't want to lie. "Professor Xavier's, probably."

"Been going to his office a lot lately, haven't you?"

Rogue looked up and frowned. "Yeah, so?"

Bobby was the one to shrug now. "Just wondering why."

Rogue cleared her throat quietly as she smoothed her hair behind her ear. "He's just been helping me… with homework." She laughed a little as she looked up at Bobby. "It's been kinda hard the past few weeks… can't concentrate much since my powers returned." It was true, especially since she was frustrated by her slow progress in training. _Which I really want to get to right now,_ she thought to herself as she bit her lip and looked up at the clock again. It was almost time to go…

She almost jumped when she felt Bobby's fingers brush her glove-clad hand and then squeeze it tightly. She looked up to see him smiling at her. "If you ever need someone else to talk to, you know… I'm here."

Even through his smile, Rogue could see the sincerity in his statement. But instead of comforting her, it almost annoyed her. "I know," she replied quietly. "Thanks."

Bobby looked down at the glass and frowned quizzically. "Huh. The solution turned black. Wonder how long it's been that way?"

Rogue's eyes went wide as saucers. "Oh shoot! I was supposed to be watching the time when it did that!" She quickly turned the titration filter all the way off and stared in exasperation at the liquid in the flask. "Let's just say… it turned right now," she sighed, and Bobby obligingly recorded the amount of time that had passed. Rogue laughed despite herself.

Soon enough, the bell rang and she was out running toward Xavier's office. After pushing her way through the clusters of students in the hall after classes, she burst through the door… to see Dr. MacTaggert occupying his chair. Moira looked up in surprise as Rogue straightened herself. "Goodness, dearie, you got here fast. Something the matter?"

Rogue shook her head. "No, nothing. Where's Professor Xavier?" she asked, looking around the office.

Moira stood up and smoothed her skirt down as she did so. "He said he had some business to take care of today after classes. I just came to tell you that he wouldn't be here."

Rogue looked slightly disappointed. She had hoped to make a breakthrough that day, since the last time she'd come very close. "Can't I work on it with you?"

"I'd love to, Rogue, but I'm not exactly qualified, being that I canna' read your mind," Moira replied with a small laugh. Then she smiled sympathetically. "If you want, I can ask him to make it up tomorrow. Go have a fun afternoon with your friends. You could probably use it; you've worked hard."

Rogue nodded. "Yeah. Thanks anyway, Dr. MacTaggert. See you tomorrow."

"Have a good evening, Rogue," Moira said gently as she stepped out the door.

Rogue walked in the opposite direction and let out a quiet groan as she went almost unconsciously into the TV room and plopped down on the couch. More than anything, she felt like she wanted to be alone. Life now was so frustrating. She'd gone almost three weeks without touching anyone directly. Well, except that hug with Bobby… but she thought it was probably just a fluke, or it was briefer than she'd thought. But for the most part, her problem wasn't _her_ coping with the return of her mutation. It was everyone else. Once again, she was Rogue, the untouchable monster. Everywhere she went, everyone she talked to, she could see the mix of pity and trepidation behind their forced smiles and awkward conversations. It was as though she were someone different, someone they had heard about from a friend of a friend, someone who suffered from some incurable, deadly condition that no one wanted to talk about up front. Even Bobby acted that way… he was just a little _too _supportive sometimes. Did they think she was in that much pain? Hadn't they all known her before? She'd had the same condition. But now that she'd been Marie to them, things might always be different.

She turned on the TV and put one leg up on the cushion as she started to channel-surf. She made it through about ten channels before she heard the door swing open behind her. She finally turned to MTV and set the remote on the floor as she brought her other leg up on the couch. She didn't glance away from the screen as the visitor sat down next to her.

"Hey, kid," said a gruff and gritty voice that could only be Logan's.

"Hey yourself," she mumbled as she continued to watch the screen, but secretly she was glad he was there.

They sat in silence for a while and watched music videos until commercials came on and Rogue muted the TV. They both held their breath for a moment until Logan shifted on the couch and glanced at Rogue. "So why are you sitting in here all by yourself?"

"I'm not; you're here, ain't you?" she replied more curtly than she meant to.

"The other kids are probably wondering where you are."

"I know," she said quietly. "I don't really care right now if they wonder or not."

Logan frowned. "They say something to tick you off?"

Rogue smiled dryly and shook her head. "No. The problem is more of what they're _not_ saying." She swept her hair around one shoulder and continued to watch the screen.

Again, they sat in silence, the tension building, but this time, Rogue was the one to break it. "Do you think I'm a freak now too, Logan?" she asked so softly only he could have heard it.

"A freak? Nah. No more than you ever were," Logan joked.

"I'm serious!" Rogue blurted at him. "Nobody talks to me anymore… not like they used to, even when I did have a mutation before. It's more painful because they _don't_ say anything! That or the ones I'm close to think they have to be my crying shoulders." She threw up her hands in exasperation. "I'm over it, okay? I'm a mutant, I get it, it's not like I'm in a constant state of grief… I just want to be treated normal, at least by people who are like me!"

Logan was surprised at her tirade. "Look, I—"

"DON'T!" she screamed at him before burying her head in her knees. Logan simply sat and stared at the TV patiently. After a few minutes he leaned over and spoke quietly. "That Dr. Z from the Chrysler commercials… he looks like a dweeb," he said, for lack of a better term. He heard a small snicker from between Rogue's knees as she looked up at the TV. A crooked smirk spread across his features.

"You try too hard," she complained, only being half-serious.

"Maybe so." He looked over at Rogue again and raised one thick eyebrow. "Maybe you don't try hard enough."

When Rogue gave him a glare that was partially inquisitive, Logan continued. "Spending two hours every other day in Chuck's office ain't exactly what I'd call 'normal,' kid."

"Yeah, well…" she hesitated. "That's the only way things might ever really be normal."

Logan narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Rogue swallowed hard. She wished she could take back what she'd just said. But then, when she thought about it, Logan was one of the few people she trusted completely. "Professor Xavier's training me… to control my powers." She relaxed as she let the words out.

Logan frowned. "Oh. Okay. You very far along yet?"

"I don't… I don't know. It's been kind of slow," she replied.

Logan just sat there for a second and stared at the carpet. Then he looked up, his expression curious. "Try it on me." He extended his arm and rolled up his sleeve. "Try to control your powers."

Rogue looked at him in shock and terror. "Logan… no, I can't…"

"Go ahead," he said in a more gentle tone than he usually used. "You're not gonna hurt me."

Rogue looked down at his bare forearm with dread and then back at his face. When he nodded, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and concentrated before taking off her right glove and closing her fingers around his wrist. For a few seconds they were silent, and Logan felt nothing but her hand. Then Rogue slowly opened her eyes and blinked several times. "Nothing…" she released her grip slightly and ran her hand up the underside of his arm. Logan smiled up at her proudly. "Nice job, kid." But as soon as he'd said it, he began to feel the same blood-boiling sensation that he felt every other time he'd been touched by Rogue, and he gasped for air as veins began to pop out of his face. Rogue jerked her hand away, leaving Logan taking ragged breaths and looking pale and malnourished. She hung her head as she put her glove back on. "I'm… I'm sorry…"

"Hey," he gasped as he put a shaking hand on her shoulder. She looked back at him and saw him almost smiling. "You… you did good," he finished.

Rogue blinked back tears. "I tried, I really did…"

Logan was almost breathing normally now. "Definitely noticed a different for a moment, there," he said encouragingly before standing up. "Keep it up, Rogue; don't lose hope." He squeezed her shoulder and she shivered at the touch, partly because of her inexplicable attraction to him and partly because of her fear of touching him again. She turned around and he was out the door, down the hall. She sighed and sat motionless for a moment before she began channel-surfing again. She landed on the news and stayed there. She was bored, and she was interested to know what current events in the outside world were like.

A polished anchorwoman stood outside a large domed building with a microphone in her hand as people passed by. "I'm here outside the capitol building in Washington, D.C. about to speak with Senator Henry Gyrich about a certain bill that has everyone across the nation in debate. Since the bill for the Mutant Registration Act was re-introduced in Congress, humans and mutants alike have both protested and lobbied for its passage. The Act was passed by the House of Representatives two weeks ago and is now being debated on the Senate floor. This and others like it have been hot-button issues since the original Mutant Registration Act was introduced nearly three years ago, and this time it looks as though it will be a close race in terms of national opinion."

Rogue nearly leapt off the couch in her anger. "What! No! They can't—that Act!" She glared darkly at the screen as the Senator began to speak before turning the TV off and storming out of the room. Someone had to know about this…

* * *

"Hey, Jean! Party of three at table two for you," Lorna shouted over the din of cookware and sizzling food before she swept out of the kitchen.

"Got it," Jean replied less enthusiastically. She blew her bangs out of her face as she leaned against the counter, waiting for another order to come up, unfazed by the noise and the choking smell of grease and cooked meat. Today was the first day she'd dared to relax and stop worrying about her mind at all since the incident last Monday. To her surprise and satisfaction, it was very easy. The busy atmosphere at work seemed like nothing compared to when she'd had thoughts streaming into her head as though everyone in the room was shouting in her ear. Now, everything was so quiet. She'd had no trouble from Dark Phoenix, either. Jean thought that the sudden change was very, very strange… and she remembered feeling a slicing pain in her own head that began to muffle everything and finally silence it. The sensation had been so familiar… but she didn't know why.

The other thing that was making her suspicious was that no one, not even Lorna, seemed to remember anything about the incident. Jean had been terrified to go out anywhere for fear other people would see her and remember who she was. But with a lot of encouragement from Kurt and a few proving but inwardly petrifying days back at work, Jean saw that she had nothing to worry about. Lorna, the one person she knew had been aware of the situation, was still as gracious and relaxed around Jean as she had been before, and they were even becoming good friends. The way things turned out, it was as though it had never happened, and Jean found it was somewhat eerie. She couldn't let go of it easily… it was like someone else had intervened for her, even though she hadn't found any foreign presence in her mind.

"Hey. Hey! It's ready," the cook said as he pushed the last plate toward her.

Jean gave a start as she was jarred from her mulling. "Oh! Thanks," she said as she moved to put it onto the tray with the other orders.

After setting out the plates at one table, she went back to take orders from the people at table two. There was a man, a woman and a cute little boy who looked like their son. "Good evening, everyone, I hope you're all doing well," Jean said with a charismatic smile. "Are you all ready to order?"

When they nodded their respective yes's, Jean stopped for a second, looking to be deliberating over something. She finally looked up at them and flashed a grin. "Tell you what; I want to try something fun. I'm going to guess what you're ordering. If I'm wrong, you get what you want free of charge."

Lorna, who stood nearby delivering meals, dropped her empty tray with a loud clatter as she heard Jean. She whipped around, her eyes wide and teeth clenched, and grabbed her by the arm. "_Jean!_ What was that I heard?" she hissed, quietly enough that the people at the table couldn't hear.

"Don't worry about it," Jean shrugged as she cracked a half-smile. She turned back to her table. "So does that sound like a deal?"

"Yeah, sure, we'll go for it," the woman said.

"This is a bad idea," Lorna muttered behind her.

"Great! So who wants to go first? How about you, sir?" Jean squinted at the ceiling as she looked into the man's mind and found what she wanted. "Hmm… you want the prime rib plain and simple?" He nodded. "Good choice," Jean said as she wrote it down. They seemed mildly impressed, but she could tell they thought it was a simple guess. _They'll see,_ she thought.

She leaned over toward the little boy. "How about you next? You want the cheeseburger with no lettuce or tomato?"

The little boy smiled and nodded enthusiastically. "You're good at this," he said a little bit loudly.

Jean looked at the woman now, and she was smirking. Jean didn't have to read her mind to know she didn't think she'd get it. When she probed the woman's consciousness, she found the most complicated plate she'd ever heard of. _Oh, great,_ Jean thought with a mental eye roll. _She's one of _those_ people. Can't imagine how her husband feels about that kind of high-maintenance eating._ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Okay, ma'am… you want a BLT."

The woman's smile grew bigger as she thought she'd be getting a free meal. "That's not all of it."

Jean nodded, eyes still shut. "I know; I'm just trying to work it all out before I say anything else." The woman shot a look at her, but Jean ignored it. Her eyes opened suddenly, and she looked confident. "Got it. BLT, on lightly toasted whole wheat bread with crusts cut off, and you want the top slice spread very, very thinly with Dijon and the bottom half _smothered_ in bleu cheese dressing. You want the lettuce and tomato on the side, not on the sandwich, and you want the lettuce separated from the tomato as well." She wrote quickly on her order pad as she spoke and tore off one sheet to begin another. "Bacon _is_ on the sandwich, but cut so that it's not sticking out the sides of the bread. It should be cut clean into triangles and yes, we can do the colored toothpicks in each one. And you want the fries on a separate plate with thousand-island dressing, not fry sauce." She grinned mildly at the woman, whose face had turned the color of alabaster. "Is that all?"

An open-mouthed nod let Jean know she'd succeeded. The restaurant had suddenly gone silent, except for the little boy's hysterical laughter. She smiled as everyone who had heard stared at her with wide eyes, completely floored. "I'll be back with those." She turned around and began walking back to the kitchen with her orders, grinning to herself. She could almost see a stunned Lorna staring after her, jaw dropped and arms dangling limply by her sides.

* * *

Kurt jumped so that he almost dropped the book he was reading as the telephone jingled loudly. Without thinking, he teleported over to the couch and picked up the phone as the misty black cloud that appeared when he teleported settled around him. "Hello, Kurt Wagner speaking?"

"Kurt, this is Charles Xavier. How are you?"

Kurt stiffened. He knew why Xavier was calling. "I am well, Professor." He had taken to calling him that during the time he'd been at the school. "How are things with you?"

There was a pause on the other end, then a small sigh. "You do know why I'm talking to you." It was a statement rather than a question.

"_Ja._" Kurt sighed. He wondered how long this had been coming.

"How long has Jean been staying with you?"

"About three weeks."

Charles paused. "How is she?" he asked, sounding like a father asking about a child he missed.

"She… she is scared. But I know for the past week she has been more stable than she was."

"Good," Charles replied, relieved. "I wanted to make sure. How much have you told her?"

"Nothing about you, Professor. She needs time to heal. But she wants to go home, too." His voice became quieter. "She is trying her hardest to fight this Phoenix."

"I would expect nothing less of Jean. She's always been a fighter."

They went silent for a few minutes, their heartache for Jean all too easy to see.

Charles finally spoke softly. "How much time do you think she needs?"

"I don't know. Do you want me to talk to her?"

"If she's in a state to hear it, then yes," he replied.

"Okay."

"Thank you, Kurt," Charles sighed. "We'll talk later."

"_Auf wiedersen,_ Professor."

"Goodbye, Kurt." _Click._

Kurt groaned as he put down the receiver and spread his hands to heaven. "Lord, give me strength…"

* * *

A sly smile crept across Jean's face, and her eyes sparkled with glee as she counted out her tips for the day. $213! It was the most she'd made so far, thanks to all the people whose orders she'd been asked to guess—and of course, she unfailingly did so. "If this keeps up, I'll be able to go home sooner than I thought," she said to herself as a shudder ran through her. Despite her longing for home, she was still insecure. No matter how stable she was, that was no redeeming factor when it came to the atrocities she'd committed…

Now she thought of Scott, but as always, to her confusion, she didn't feel grief for what she'd done. There was only regret in her heart, the same she would have felt if it had been any other life. Sometimes, she imagined herself back at the mansion, hugging him and kissing him and laughing because she was so happy to see him. She thought of their wedding, their first child, them being old and gray together. All these things were supposed to make her happy, but Jean looked on these daydreams with an eerie sense of objectivity. She was almost sure they'd never come true. But she couldn't grieve for them, either, because some little idealistic part of her said that maybe it could still happen, maybe she'd never actually… oh, God, she couldn't even think the words.

Jean swept up her bag and walked away, leaving her ruminations at the register. She made a beeline for the bathroom so she could freshen up. She shoved the door open with her free hand and moseyed in. As her eyes trailed up the stalls, she stopped. There, in front of the mirror, was a woman with spectacular, emerald-colored waves cascading down her back, just standing there and staring at herself. Jean stood by quietly and studied her, then realized her face was all too familiar… her eyes swiveled to the floor, where a mop of brown hair lay at the woman's feet.

"Lorna?"

She whipped around with a startled gasp, her hair flying into her face as she did. Her green eyes were wide and her face full of unexpected anger. "Dammit!" Lorna frantically grabbed her wig and stumbled into an empty stall, slamming the door.

Her behavior surprised Jean. "Hey, I just—"

"Get out of here, Jean! You didn't see anything! You hear me!" Lorna shouted irately from inside the stall. "If you tell anyone…"

Jean stood where she was as she slowly came to a realization. _No wonder she was scared about her future…_

She heard quiet sobs coming from inside the stall where Lorna had confined herself. Just as quietly, Jean showed herself out and left for home.

* * *

"Does anyone have any questions or comments?" He held out his hands in offering and was answered with silence. A smile slithered across his mouth. "No? Good. Now let us have our President of the Senate count the votes." Gyrich proceeded to take his seat.

"When I call your name, all in favor of this bill to instate the Mutant Registration Act say yea and all not in favor say nay. Albrecht."

"Yea."

"Andersen."

"Yea."

"Asche."

"Yea."

"Brown."

"Yea…"

* * *

Okay, so not as much happened in this chapter, but I just wanted to fill everyone in a little. And I wanted to do the scene with Jean reading the customers' minds... heehee. Next one will be really exciting! I appreciate all those reviews more than you know, please keep them coming; and thanks for reading!

Love, Catherine/Ithaeli


	7. When The World Caves In

The man's high-pitched laughter rang through the little room, and his shoulders shook as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Oh… oh, that was too easy." He had a newspaper in his hand that crumpled as he clutched it. The headline: "Mutant Registration Act Passes Congress."

Wiping mirthful tears from his eyes, he gave one last chuckle and looked over at the prostrate girl. "Nice, kid, nice job." His satisfied expression slowly faded into one of displeasure as he stood in the seeming silence that followed. Standing up swiftly, he took three steps to reach a metal cabinet on the wall, which he swiftly pulled open to reveal dozens of what looked like large IV bags hanging on hooks. He pulled one off and slammed the cabinet doors, proceeding to replace the empty bag attached to the tube feeding into the base of the prostrate girl's neck. He waited for it to start its drip before tossing the empty one and then wagged a warning finger at her. "Tsk, tsk. No more questions. Not for a few days."

He sat down and began to read the newspaper. "Letters to the editor… always my favorite section of the paper." He laughed again in his eerie, high-pitched laugh. "The people are so stupid, it's comical." He looked up at the comatose girl again, frowning. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Dispatch Sentinels 1 through 80 to San Francisco, California. You're going to be doing a lot of work tonight. Hope I'm not asking too much… ah, who am I kidding?" He chuckled again. "I'm looking forward to reading about it… 'Mutant Bloodbath in California.' Hah, what a headline."

The girl's eyes were empty, as they always were, while a unit of the Sentinels in the hangar outside activated with the sound of groaning metal.

* * *

Students in the halls of the mansion let out staggered gasps and utterances as a gale screamed down from the sky and rattled the windows as it whipped the early summer foliage up in towering green whirlwinds. All wondering ceased when Ororo Munroe came sprinting by, eyes wide and face stricken with panic.

Professor Xavier was expecting her. As Ororo burst through the door to Xavier's office, gasping, he looked up, unsurprised, his expression dreary. As it began to rain, Ororo's eyes welled up with tears and she opened her mouth to speak. "Professor… Congress, they've—"

"I already know," Charles said glumly. "Calm down, Ororo, please. Take a seat," he said gently.

Ororo breathed deeply and sat down as she blinked back her tears. The rain and wind subsided, but outside the sky remained gray.

Charles sighed and stood up as he rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. "I'm going to call the others down." By "others," he meant X-Men; Ororo knew that. "Just try to keep your mind on other things until everyone is here," Charles said.

She complied quietly, still in a dreary daze, and sat in silence until they heard footsteps coming down the hall. Kitty, always the punctual one, stepped in through the wall, and was soon followed by Bobby, Logan, Piotr and Warren. As soon as they were all assembled, Professor Xavier led them all to the conference room in the basement. He stood up before he spoke, something he was becoming more and more accustomed to.

"Are all of you aware of the reason I called this meeting?" Several of them shook their heads. Charles sighed and looked down. "Yesterday, while in session, the Senate… passed the rewrite of the Mutant Registration Act."

A discontented murmur went between some of them. Kitty spoke up. "Well, that's all right, I mean, the President will probably veto it. He's become an advocate of mutant rights; he won't stand for this."

Charles sighed sadly. "Kitty raises a good point. Unfortunately, even presidential veto is virtually guaranteed not to reverse it this time. The Senate vote was unanimous."

The sound that went up now was a shocked gasp. Ororo frowned. "I thought that originally a majority of Senators were opposed to it!"

"Somethin' here smells fishy," Logan snarled.

Charles nodded. "I agree. Considering public opposition to the bill and the projected views of our Congressmen, a unanimous decision should not even have been worth worrying over. Especially considering recent amendments to the proposed act."

"Which amendments?" Warren asked.

"Rogue told me about the one that has everyone going," Bobby said. "They're planning on conducting random police actions to try and locate underground mutant movements that are considered a threat to society."

Logan leapt out of his chair and pounded his fist on the table with a heavy _clank_. "That could mean anything!"

"It is a vague statement," Piotr added. "Things could get ugly real fast if it gets taken too liberally."

"_Random _police actions? That means if things do get ugly, we don't know where or when!" Kitty cried, becoming more upset by the moment.

"Everyone, please calm yourselves," Charles admonished. "At this point, we do not know if we need to worry. But we do need to be prepared to deal with a possible threat. Everyone please do their best to be on your toes, but also, just try to relax." He sighed. "And I suppose I should remind you to work on sending in your mutant registration… when it is available."

Everyone muttered as they prepared to leave. Charles put up a hand to stop them. "Wait, please. I have one more order of business to discuss with you. It is up to you whether to take it as good or bad, but this definitely is news that concerns you." He paused for a long time until after he was sure he had their attention, then began in a quiet voice. "Recently, I discovered something pivotal… to everything. I have seen the Phoenix raised from the ashes."

Ororo smiled and laughed a little, suspending her disbelief. "Good metaphor, Professor, but I know you don't mean… you can't mean…" she trailed off as she saw the message in his eyes. Looking around, Charles saw everyone's expressions slowly take on a mix of epiphany, shock, and disbelief. Logan's eyes, especially, held a confused mass of emotions that were rare for him to show.

Charles continued. "Yes… Jean Grey is alive, and she is well. She's staying in San Francisco with our own Kurt Wagner."

"What… what do you mean, 'well?'" Kitty asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"She is in stable condition," Charles replied, keeping his fears to himself. "I have been monitoring her for the past week, since I gathered a hunch from a discussion I had with Logan," he nodded at said person. "I contacted Kurt, and he has said Jean wants to come home. I expect that, soon, she will be."

"Come home!" Ororo exploded. "After all that she—!"

"As I said, she is in stable condition. I've made sure of it. Yes… after all that she did. She needs to come to terms with what exactly has happened. It will be difficult for all of us, but I trust you will do your best to show love and support for your teammate during an unimaginably trying stage in her life. I know I intend to help Jean in every way I can."

It was only now that Logan spoke, and so quietly that everyone could barely hear him. "When will we see her again?"

"Very soon," Charles replied gently. "She'll be back with us very soon. Perhaps within a few days." The air was heavy with the subsequent silence. Charles could feel the terror radiating off each of them at the prospect of meeting Phoenix again, but beneath it he found deep love. Every one of them missed her sorely, and that love would always be there for her no matter what she'd done. It was not something they could help, nor could they stuff it down where it wouldn't show. That was what would heal all the wounds caused in their lives, he knew. Whoever had said that love conquers all was no fool.

"We'll do our best, Professor," Bobby said. "For Dr. Grey's sake. At least, we'll try."

"Yeah," Ororo agreed. "She'll need support. I'm sorry for my outburst earlier... I'm sure we all have mixed feelings about this. But we're going to give our all for a friend, right?" she asked, looking around at her teammates.

Everyone nodded except Logan, who held his head in his hands and was still.

"Try not to dwell too much on this right now," Charles said, "nor on the MRA. Just be prepared. Make sure the students know that Jean will be back here. Times are about to change. You're all dismissed."

As the X-Men filed quietly out of the room to get back to their days, Logan approached Charles. Confused tears were in his eyes, and he sucked in a breath. "Why didn't you tell me you knew?" he rumbled. "This is… this is huge."

"I wanted to be sure she was all right, Logan. I didn't want to give you or anyone else any false hope."

Logan shook his head as he stared at the floor. "That was no dream I had at Alkali Lake, was it?"

"No. I don't know how it happened, but you and Jean established a psychic link from opposite ends of the country. She must have been surprised to hear from you."

A thoughtful smile played at Logan's lips. "She sounded… happy."

Charles smiled. "She knows how you feel about her. She has known for a long time."

"Yeah," Logan grunted, turning around to hide the color that came into his face. "Well, guess I'll leave you to your business, Chuck. See ya."

"Goodbye, Logan," Charles replied before settling back into his chair. He rested his chin on his hand for a moment and heaved a huge sigh. Reaching for the phone, he began to dial Henry McCoy's number.

* * *

Rain was running in an S-shaped river down Lombard Street under the streetlamps. Jean watched from under an awning as a little girl in a pink raincoat and galoshes splashed and kicked through the water, squealing with laughter, while her mother stood nearby and watched her like a hawk. No cars would dare attempt Lombard Street on a day like this, or they would slide right off due to the grade of the hill. The rain was spattering on the streets, just enough to soak everything through, just enough to completely change the way everything was in clear weather. The bay, normally a gently rippled green, was now a stucco-textured mass of slate grey, and the streets were all clogged with cars, more so than usual. Today was the day Jean had decided to walk from work. It was getting dark, and she was wet and cold.

"Why did I pick _this_ day to be shelterless?" she muttered to herself. Her emotions had been on edge all day. There were multiple instances of unkind customers, and she'd spilled a drink on her uniform (thankfully, it hadn't stained). Now, she was shivering in a t-shirt and knee-length black skirt, soaked to the bone from all the times she'd been forced out from under awnings and roofs. Edging her way through crowds, she finally gave in and pushed out to the open street, where she was further splashed by the runoff from people's umbrellas. Running with her arms tight around herself, she spotted the apartment with a sigh of relief and hastened inside.

A few minutes later, she was wrapped in a blanket with a mug of hot tea. Kurt came in the door not long after she'd settled herself in. He smiled as he folded up his umbrella. "You look comfortable."

Jean smirked as she sipped her tea. "_Guten tag_, Kurt."

"_Es ist ein sehr nasser tag_. A very wet day indeed." He chuckled. "And it looks like it got the best of you."

Jean rolled her eyes. "It was sunny this morning! I waited too long for the car, so I had to walk."

"You can take my umbrella next time. I'll teleport under awnings," he joked.

Jean glared into the space in front of her. "I doubt you'll be doing that out in the open, thanks to the new laws under the MRA." She looked up at him. "You did hear about that, didn't you? It was a unanimous pass." That was another big reason she'd been feeling less than great that day.

Kurt sighed as he scratched his head. "_Ja_, I read about it this morning. They'll be sending us our registration cards very soon."

He came to sit down opposite Jean. She noticed his expression was suddenly concerned. "Hey, don't worry so much about it. We're well-behaved mutants… well, at least you are. This has been coming for a while."

Kurt shook his head. "No, it is not the MRA… I just… I have to speak with you about something important, Jean."

She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise as she took another swallow of tea. "You're not confessing that you're in love with me, are you, Kurt? You know this isn't going to work out, you and me," she joked.

Kurt gave a complimentary chuckle. "You've caught me." He looked back up toward Jean from where he sat. "I must be serious. Jean, how soon would you prefer to go back to the mansion?"

Jean's face became sincerely apologetic. "Kurt, if I've worn out my welcome, I really can go find another place to stay—"

"_Nein! Nein_. No, I am glad you are here, Jean, and you are welcome to stay as long as you want. The reason I ask is—"

Kurt was interrupted as the buzzer on the front door went off. He sat up straight and was gone the next moment in curls of midnight-colored smoke. He answered the door to see a young woman standing with her umbrella at her side, her face framed with tendrils of wavy green hair that matched her eyes. She showed the usual surprised expression upon seeing him, but hers was milder than most. "Hey," she said awkwardly as she looked at the ground.

"Hallo," Kurt replied. "How can I help you, _fraulein?_"

She craned her neck to see the address next to the door. "Is Jean Grey staying here?"

In reply, Jean frantically unwrapped herself from her blanket and thudded over to the doorway. She pulled away the strands of wet, wavy hair that stuck to her face and stepped forward. "Hi there," she finally said.

"Hi," Lorna replied, a smile gracing her features. "Nice out, huh?"

Jean gave a nervous laugh and then paused. "Well, please; come on inside..." she glanced sideways at Kurt for approval.

_She's your guest, _she found him thinking when she probed his mind briefly.

Jean led Lorna inside, where the younger woman kicked off her boots and then stood around awkwardly, as most people would if they were a first-time guest in another person's house. "Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. Do you want some tea or cocoa, anything like that?"

"Mmm, hot chocolate sounds great," Lorna replied as a shiver ran up her body.

Jean grabbed a mug from the cabinet above the sink and took the kettle from the stove to pour hot water in it. Lorna watched as steam rose and curled in the air before it disappeared as vapor. She looked up at Jean. "Hey, um, Jean… listen, I'm sorry I yelled at you the other day… in the bathroom." She sucked in a breath. "It's not that I don't trust you, but—"

"You don't know who you can tell," Jean finished as she stirred in the cocoa. "Believe me, I understand that."

Lorna furrowed her brow curiously. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I know a lot of mutants, and I know it's hard for them to know who would rat off to their anti-mutant friends." She set the hot chocolate on a coaster on the coffee table. "Careful; it's very hot."

Kurt looked confused as he sat in the armchair. "Wait a minute… am I missing something here?"

Jean stood up suddenly and shook her head. "Where are my manners? I'm so sorry. This is Lorna Dane; she works with me. Lorna, this is my friend Kurt Wagner."

Despite Kurt's strange appearance, Lorna felt comfortable around him. She nodded a greeting. "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Dane. As you can tell, I am no stranger to prejudice either."

Lorna smiled sincerely. "You probably have a harder time than most with hiding the way you really look. I just have to wear a wig."

Kurt shrugged. "I stopped bothering with disguising myself a while ago. I find I like myself better when I do not have to hide who I am, and I have friends who like me for who I am on the inside as well. It makes things easier."

While Kurt was talking, Jean kept hearing a metallic clatter. When she looked, she saw Lorna raising her hand and letting it drop, and in sync with her action, a nickel on the table went up in the air and came back down. She looked up at Lorna inquisitively. "Telekinesis?"

Lorna drew her attention instantly to Jean and stopped playing with the nickel. "Pardon?"

"Do you manipulate objects with your mind?"

Lorna shook her head and stared at the coin. "Not everything, just things made out of metal."

_She's a living electromagnet, just like…_

"Have you heard of a mutant named Magneto?" Kurt asked.

Lorna's hand slammed down on top of the nickel as she glared, teeth clenched. "I have, and I'm telling you now I am _not_ like him. I _saw_ M-Day happen from across the bay. I know it was his fault, that bastard. He's the reason why this MRA crap is happening. Him and the Phoenix."

Jean felt a pang of regret and guilt squeeze her from inside. Her hands began to shake, but she wanted to hear it all. "The Phoenix?"

"Yeah. It was the most horrifying thing I've ever seen. She destroyed that whole island, and most of the people on it. The water around the island was covered in ashes for days afterward."

Jean felt like she would break down.

"But, I don't know… from what they said later it didn't really seem like it was _her_ fault. Magneto was manipulating her; he was using her for the end goal, and it backfired."

_No, no, it wasn't him. It was me. All me._

"She was the one who really needed that cure they developed. I didn't take it because I figured if I just hid myself well enough no one would know…"

_The cure!_ Jean's eyes snapped wide open. She had known about it. She knew Magneto had been the one in resistance to it, and it ultimately bit him in the back… after that, she only remembered the way Logan's claws ripped through her flesh to stop the beating of her sin-laden heart, to end her suffering. She felt sick.

But the cure was a definite possibility. If anything else happened…

"Jean? You okay?"

She blinked a few times as she came back to the conversation. "Yeah. Sorry. I spaced out for a minute there. I'm so tired," she sighed.

"That's fine. If you want to nap, just let me know and I'll leave," Lorna said.

"I'm all right for now," Jean replied. The fact that she was drinking chamomile tea probably didn't help much with her sleepiness.

"Okay. Hey, Kurt, what's your power anyway? Or do you just look different?"

Kurt smiled shyly. "I am a teleporter."

"Oh, that's so cool! I'd love to be able to teleport; I'd get to work so much faster. So, Jean, are you a mutie too or do you j—"

She was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream on the street below, followed by a very loud _slam_ that shook the entire house. The three of them scrambled to the window and looked out. A mech the height of the apartment complex Kurt lived in towered above them, shining coldly in the lights and the rain that poured down on its surfaces.

"Good lord," Lorna whispered. "What is that thing?"

She didn't have to wait for an answer. As the mech turned, its hollow, haunting gaze was directed straight into their window, and as it raised its arm, Jean thought she heard a passing whisper of a thought: _Terminate._

She felt Kurt's arm grab her around the waist, and for a flash, through thick curls of blue smoke, she saw the glass and plaster shattering and caving toward them…

* * *

"Dr. Grey is alive."

Rogue blinked in surprise, partially at the abrupt manner in which he said it, and partially because of the content. "You're kidding. Jean Grey? Is this a joke?"

Bobby shook his head gravely. "We're gonna be picking her up at some point. She'll be back here with us, Rogue."

"Where is she now?" Rogue whispered, eyes wide.

"She's in San Francisco, staying with Nightcrawler."

"So she's not... dangerous?"

Bobby shrugged. "Not at this point."

Rogue shook her head. "God… how did she…? We… we buried her body, we had a funeral. We both saw it all."

"I know it seems impossible, but Professor Xavier wouldn't lie about something like this." He sighed. "I think it's going to be a big struggle for everyone. I mean, what if she does lose control again once she's back here? It's distinctly possible."

Rogue only gazed at the ceiling. "Maybe things will be different this time. Dr. Grey was… _is_ a smart woman, and she must have been aware of what was happening. She could figure something out so things like M-Day don't happen again."

"I don't know," Bobby sighed. "Of course I miss Dr. Grey, but… it still makes me afraid."

Rogue smiled thoughtfully. "If she's alive, then there has to be a reason. Second chances don't happen often."

Bobby didn't answer. He sat deep in thought, staring at the floor below Rogue's bed, where he sat. The silence in that room was so complete that they both heard the swift footsteps coming down the hall toward the room.

Ororo burst through the door. "Iceman, uniform room and then hangar, fast."

Bobby stood up swiftly. He knew they only called him by his alias when there was a crisis or a mission, and he knew the latter wasn't planned on anytime soon. He turned to his girlfriend quickly. "I'll see you later, I guess."

"Wait!" Rogue stood up. "Prof… Storm, wherever y'all are going, I want to join you."

Storm hesitated for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, and then nodded. "Come on, both of you."

As they ran off down the hall, Bobby asked, "Where are we going, anyway?"

"San Francisco. And not necessarily for Jean—those "random police actions" we were talking about are happening there as we speak."

"So what's the crisis?" Rogue asked as they filed into the elevator.

Storm's eyes were clouded with fear and worry as she looked at Rogue. "They're worse than we thought. Reports are saying there are giant robotic units that have landed all over the city. That's a big tip-off for extreme violence."

Both teenagers nodded their agreement, and then all three of them stepped off the elevator and walked briskly to the room where their uniforms waited for them.

* * *

Nearly every member of Magneto's New Brotherhood was huddled up in a corner of the church that had become their usual meeting place, holding their breath as they listened to the spine-chilling sounds of heavy objects slamming into the ground and screams rising intermittently from all parts of the city. They'd been conducting a regular meeting that night when the sounds began, and now the alarms in the city were singing in their eerie, rhythmic rising tones. The darkness and the pouring rain didn't help matters. They didn't know what was out there, but they weren't intending to take a venture if they could help it. Not many of them were fighting fit. Those who were Magneto, Mystique and Emma stood up at the front of the group, with Remy LeBeau, whom everyone called Gambit, sitting close behind.

"Is it this Phoenix you were talking about, _chere_?" Remy asked Mystique in a whisper.

Mystique was staring out through the window at the front of the church, her yellow eyes soaking up the light from the streetlamps. "I don't know."

Emma, who was pacing the length of the doors, turned and stopped at the window as a towering Sentinel lunged into view a few blocks away from the church. She jumped back when she saw it, letting out a gasp. "That's no Phoenix, unless she turned into a robot all of a sudden."

Magneto swept to the window, staring out at the machine from behind Emma. He watched it intently; to his surprise, it walked and moved fluidly and quickly, the same way a human would; it wasn't cumbersome as one would expect a machine of that size to be. "It's well-engineered," he murmured. "But as long as it's made of metal components, we'll most likely be safe."

Emma turned sharply, glaring at Magneto. "'Most likely?' You'll have to do better than that, magnet boy."

"I wonder, then, why this thing is here. And is there only one?" Mystique asked rhetorically as she narrowed her eyes at the robot, which now turned and walked off in the opposite direction.

Remy opened his mouth to say something, but his words were lost in the loud cracking sound that suddenly came from the roof. Pieces of ceiling fell to the carpet as the four leaders jumped back against the wall and the rest of the group huddled closer, a collection of frightened gasps coming from among them. Almost immediately afterward, a corner of the roof was torn away by a metal hand like a page from a book. As the roof flew off, the crowd saw a Sentinel's empty mechanical eyes, lit with dim halogen lights, looking at them, but at the same time looking through them. Now the gasps turned to screams, but they barely broke the rainy night air before the lights of those hollow eyes flickered and the Sentinel seemed to rip itself into scrap, pieces flying in every direction. Magneto stood in the center of the floor, his hand outstretched toward where the Sentinel had just stood, his face wearing a stricken expression. He was splattered with blood, and it wasn't from anyone in the building…

Remy was the first to notice this. "_Mon dieu_… but it was a machine!"

"Yeah, we noticed," Emma replied with an exaggerated eye roll, trying to hide the fact that she was shaken.

"Did you pick up on anything, Emma?" Mystique pressed her friend.

The blonde shook her head, expression troubled. "It was too fast… just because it's got organic matter doesn't mean it has a mind."

Magneto lowered his hand and looked around at all the frightened mutants shaking in the corner. "We must move along… we aren't safe here." With that, he pushed open the door to the church and waited for everyone to follow him out. He had a sinking feeling he knew why this was happening… the war was very far from being over.

Would it always be this way?

* * *

They were running. Running from god-knows-what, a cold machine that Jean could hear over and over…_ Sentinel 004. Mutant genome detected. Terminate. Sentinel 004. Mutant genome detected. Terminate..._

Could Kurt and Lorna hear it, too? If they could, Jean didn't have time to ask. Kurt's grip tight on both her arm and Lorna's, their ever-teleporting figures only concentrated on evading each of the ruthless giants that pursued them. They were in a constant tunnel of blue wisps of smoke, every step a hundred feet away from the next, but as long as there was always someplace to step, Jean wasn't afraid.

Suddenly they stopped, Kurt's eyes darting everywhere. "We cannot keep this up," he gasped out in exhaustion. "We must hide somewhere. Somewhere off of the street."

Lorna was quick on the draw. "Look, down there," she nodded her head quickly at a barred window that peeked into what looked like a cellar in the brick building off to their right.

"There could be someone down there waiting for us!" Jean shouted over the ever-louder footsteps that came behind them.

"I like it better than the other option," Kurt burst out quickly, whipping around just as the Sentinel sprang up, its fist ready to come down on them.

Jean squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact. She heard the sound of metal crushing on asphalt, felt the earth shake… but beyond that, nothing. She opened her eyes to see an iron grid, and beyond it, a cracked street where the robot had arm-hammered the pavement, missing them. The smoke was still dissolving around it. They'd been very close.

All three of them breathed silently and heard their hearts beating loudly in their chests. The robot—Jean remembered it was called a Sentinel—stood up slowly and seemed to look for them unsuccessfully with its shell-like eyes, then it moved onward, its heavy steps growing fainter. Only now did they allow themselves hard sighs of relief and amazement.

"Wow, that was… exciting," Lorna whispered with a very shaky laugh. "To say the least."

"Sure… exciting," Jean said, humoring her friend. "Kurt, you're a lifesaver… really."

Kurt was still breathing hard, and his hands shook visibly. "I do my best, _fraulein_."

Jean shook her head to try and clear the shock from her system, then turned around. The cellar was dark, except for what looked like dim emergency lighting in one corner of the room. Cobwebs and spiderwebs hung everywhere, but it seemed like nothing now, even to Jean, who was always a neat freak and had terrible arachnophobia. At least no one was down there with them, she found after telepathically scanning the room.

"We're alone," she said in low, quiet tones as she turned back around to face the street.

"That's good, I guess," Lorna replied in a similar voice.

Jean suddenly got a notion. The Sentinels were made out of metal… "Hey, Lorna, just how developed are your abilities?"

"I can move anything up to the size of a toaster. That's about it," she replied regretfully.

"Oh," Jean sighed in disappointment. She was still fearful and unconfident about her telekinesis, so she didn't even consider that option. Right now, she suddenly realized her head felt swollen and tired. She leaned her elbows against the edge of the grate, rubbing her head with her hands. But as she thought of their current situation, she decided that was the least of her worries and stopped.

Lorna shook her head in disbelief. "Why is this happening?" Her voice began to break. "People are going to die tonight. We should've done something…" She buried her head in her hands silently.

"I do not know how much we could have done. We were running for our lives ourselves a few minutes ago," Kurt said. "But I believe God is always in control of everything. Something will make this stop." Jean silently admired the confidence Kurt exhibited even now.

She turned to them, suddenly remembering t. "Did you hear what they were… could you hear their voices?"

Both returned her question with blank stares. Jean sighed and continued. "They were stating their objectives: 'Mutant genome detected. Terminate.' They're after _mutants_," she whispered.

"What!" Lorna looked at her in shock. "Why? Who is sending these things out?"

Jean shook her head. "I don't know… wait." She narrowed her eyes. "The Senate made a last-minute amendment to the MRA bill. It was authorizing… random police action to alleviate mutant-related disturbances. Oh… oh, god." She suddenly felt ill in her head and stomach at the same time.

Kurt's expression was grave. "Do you mean to say…"

"…Our own government is authorizing this… this carnage?" Lorna's face was drained of color.

Jean didn't answer. She felt like something was about to burst inside her brain. In her fingertips, a hot tingling sensation began to form.

Another approaching series of giant's footsteps made them duck behind the iron grate again, shaking more than ever. The footsteps were mingled with screams of terror, which came nearer and nearer, until a stampede of people came running into their view, followed by a Sentinel. Suddenly, their eyes all traveled upward, and they backed into each other like scared horses before a second Sentinel landed on the other end of the crowd, trapping them.

Jean felt a wave of anger come over her as she looked on. There were teenagers in the group, young kids who were crying, a woman clutching her toddler to her side, eyes wide with terror. And the Sentinels looked down on all of them with their merciless, cold shells of light and metal. Jean heard them again… _Sentinel 043. Mutant genomes detected. Terminate all. Terminate all. Terminate…_

The screams grew louder and more frantic as a panel opened in the first Sentinel to reveal the barrel of a gun… _No,_ Jean thought as she looked on the scene helplessly, failing to quell the rage that she knew in the back of her mind was building too fast… _You can't. They're people, they're all innocent people… I will KILL you, if you...!_

One blinding flash of light silenced the screaming forever.

But they echoed in Jean's head as her dammed-up second self burst its prison wide open.

Lorna and Kurt barely had time to scream, breathe, do anything at all, before the building blew apart around them like a glass bulb. The ashes blew away in whirlwinds among the rain, and Lorna looked around in utter confusion and fear. Her eyes fell on Kurt, who was looking at Jean. Lorna followed his gaze and beheld something that seized her with wonder and terror. Jean stood at what had been the epicenter of the building's explosion, arm outstretched, her entire figure enveloped in golden flames that radiated an indescribable glory and power. Her hair was a blaze of crimson that flew all around her face, and her fiercely intense eyes glowed with unquenchable, abysmal fire.

Lorna's breath caught in her throat. _God… Jean is…_

She watched as Jean rose smoothly into the air to face the Sentinels. In turn, they drew their attention to her, blind to the massive threat she posed to them. As they both lunged for her, Jean's fist clenched, and they dissolved into ash and element.

"Jean!" Kurt was screaming, though Lorna barely heard him over the forceful winds that the Phoenix's presence was stirring up. "Jean Grey, hear me! Stop this! You must stop!"

_No,_ a strong voice echoed in their heads, one that was Jean's, but wasn't quite the same. _I know what I'm doing. Don't try to stop me._

Lorna burst into tears as Jean rose over her head and glided away to begin her rampage. "No! No! Jean!" She cried for what seemed lost now, for her spirited, intelligent friend, the one who cared about people more than Lorna ever had and was a source of constant support and friendship… she cried because, right now, that Jean was lost inside herself somewhere and was replaced by a goddess of destruction. It wasn't right, she thought.

Kurt touched her lightly on the shoulder to get her attention. "We must follow her. I do not believe she will try to hurt us."

Lorna nodded her approval, wiping her tears on her sleeve, and grabbed onto Kurt's arm as he made them vanish.

* * *

Okay, I decided to cut this chapter short in the middle of things… I know it's torture, but it was getting ridiculously long! Thus, the next chapter may be shorter. Thanks SO much for the many reviews for last chapter! I hope I won't disappoint!

Catherine/Ithaeli


	8. Suffer Me

The New Brotherhood was scattered by the times they'd been detected by Sentinels so far. The alarms continued to blare, screaming in vain to the barren streets. Magneto and Emma were leading one group, while it was assumed that Mystique and Gambit had assembled another. Magneto had managed to hold off and destroy a few of the Sentinels as they'd encountered them, but things were looking worse as more were migrating toward that area of the city. Still, the little group trekked on to god-knows-where in uncomfortable silence. Their confidence in Magneto's abilities did little to calm their fears.

Emma looked at the street signs as they carefully approached an intersection blocked by abandoned cars, some of which were smashed in. "Haight-Ashbury," she whispered to no one. "This place is normally full of weirdoes this time of night."

Magneto walked on in edgy silence until he could see all four ways in the intersection. There were no signs of life anywhere as far as he could see. Only cracked asphalt and fading lights, and further down, bodies. Emma walked out beside him, her gaze wandering all around as she probed for any strain of thought close to them. When the silence in her mind equaled the silence of the street, she gave the signal for the rest of the group to move forward. "Nothing here, everyone. Keep moving." Just to double-check, she sent out a second telepathic echo. At first, nothing… then a whisper, a muffled voice that was unintelligible. "Wait… oh, shit!" she whispered as the words of the thought became solid in her mind.

It was too late. The trees on the roadside came crashing down as four Sentinels arrived in chaotic splendor, one on each side of the group, and the noise was so loud that none of them heard the explosion only a couple of miles away. Immediately, Magneto made a move to annihilate two of them. Instead, he gave a cry of surprise as a third released a Kevlar chain that caught and constricted him, pinning his arms to his sides and dragging him quickly into the surface of the Sentinel, where the impact on his head promptly knocked him unconscious.

The group began to panic, trying to run in every direction, but finding themselves utterly trapped. With Magneto incapacitated, their first defense was gone. Emma, however, was not willing to let it go that easily. She whirled around as one of the other Sentinels revealed its weaponry, her skin beginning to shine as it hardened into a substance the strength of diamond. "This is gonna hurt you more than it's gonna hurt me," she muttered as she rushed the Sentinel and sucker punched it in what would have been its head. As her rock-hard fist ripped through its metal skull, she was the one to receive the shock of spattering blood… and brain matter. "Good god!" she shrieked as she backed away from the collapsing hunk of metal, distracted from the other three Sentinels that still threatened them. "What the hell are these things?!"

Suddenly, a violent wind rent the air around them, hissing through the trees that were left standing. Everyone turned toward the source of the wind, on the eastern side… where, on the horizon, a golden light was growing brighter and brighter.

Emma made attempts to wipe the blood off of her face as she looked on this with awe. There, at the source of the light, was that same woman she'd seen at the cable car station, the one Mystique said was named Jean Grey. But she was definitely not the same as she had been…

Emma fell to her knees in defeat, thinking Jean was there to kill them all. But the Phoenix didn't even look at any of them. The group of mutants watched in amazement as the three remaining Sentinels went stiff with a collective groan, and then seemed to explode into clouds of ash.

Magneto was just coming to when all this happened. He blinked a few times, and then saw that everyone was turned and looking at something… when he followed their gaze, his jaw nearly dropped. There, in the air before them in all her terror and glory, was the Phoenix. Now, her bright, flaming eyes fell on him, and for a moment in time, they held each other's gaze fixedly. Then the Phoenix broke away and disappeared onward into the night, leaving everyone quiet and stunned. Her leaving was followed by a flash of blue smoke in the middle of the street, but no one saw it.

"Ah, so you have returned," Magneto said quietly. "Well, just know that I won't be getting in your way this time."

_You never succeeded in getting in my way in the first place,_ the tart reply came. Magneto smiled. Jean was still distinctly… herself.

* * *

Miles away, the Blackbird flew smoothly and silently over the California coastline. Storm manned the pilot's seat while the rest of the team sat further back in the jet. Tensions were running high. 

"This is the first mission we've been on in a long time," said Iceman.

"Yeah," Shadowcat agreed. "Things are gonna get intense out there."

Rogue paused. "Do you… do you think we'll see… you know…"

"Jean?" Colossus finished for her. "I don't know."

"It's possible we're already too late," Angel said.

"No!" Wolverine roared, startling everyone. Looking around at their faces, he quickly calmed down. "I mean, uh, I doubt it. Jeannie's got Nightcrawler watchin' her back, right? They'll be fine." Despite his comment, he sounded uneasy.

Storm turned around in her seat briefly. "We should be there soon, guys. Time to get ready."

Tensions rose again within each of them as they stood up silently.

* * *

Jean felt the sensation of her body flying through the air. She saw the city below her, going by like trees on a highway. The Phoenix's fire was raging in her body. She was aware. Yet, she felt the strange detached feeling that took over when the Phoenix surfaced… she noticed it didn't make her afraid this time. On the streets below, the only things that her mind was changing was the Sentinels. _She knows what she's doing… she's different right now._ Jean let herself lose control for the moment, relieved at the discovery that she didn't have to fight. 

She knew Kurt and Lorna were following her… she couldn't blame them. They didn't know that it was safe. Of course, there wasn't much they could have done if it wasn't. But she sensed they were beginning to see what she was accomplishing. Kurt was realizing he'd been right; the Phoenix hadn't come to destroy them this time. Jean wasn't sure if it was her thought or the Phoenix's, perhaps it was the same, but she was feeling a bit arrogant at the notion that she was the savior of that night.

She saw the people she was saving look up at her in wonder and in fear, confused as to why the Phoenix, famous for her unbridled destruction, was… saving them. But they had been so threatened before that all they did was run on to a place they deemed safer. There wasn't anything else they could do. Jean was so angry about all of it, the Sentinels, the MRA, the fact that she'd been so powerless before… she knew her anger was righteous this time.

_Now,_ she said to herself, _how many more are there?_

* * *

"Dammit!" The man was seething, his face a mask of terrifying anger. "She's destroyed nearly half of our units by now!" He whirled around to face the comatose girl who was always in the room with him. "This is a disaster! Goddammit, Astrid, you little liar! You said she wasn't of any danger to our operation! If you're such a talented mutie, why is this happening now?" he spat, flinging his arm out in a gesture at the situation. 

He paused in his rampage, his expression becoming calmer before he glared at her again. "Sorry ain't gonna cut it, kid," he snapped bitterly. Her eyes remained empty, as ever. He walked up swiftly and put his face close to hers. "What are you gonna do now? This can't fail, you know that. If it does, you'll end up like those Sentinels."

He backed away slowly as his anger faded. "You know what you're going to do? I'll tell you. You're going to get into her head. You're going to screw around with that girl. Ah, perfect. Her instability makes her a prime target." He laughed, cutting off sharply. "Well? Go on. You can leave the Sentinels to what they're doing. No one else is equipped to deal with them for long." He walked over to the window again, looking rather pleased with himself.

* * *

Kurt and Lorna watched as yet another Sentinel fell victim to the Phoenix's vendetta, this time so nearby that they were blasted with the cooling ashes of its remains. Lorna coughed, tears forming in her eyes, before she realized that once again they were somewhere different, still keeping Jean's incandescent form within their line of sight. 

They stopped, and Kurt started coughing this time. They were practically right next to another Sentinel. They watched for it to dissolve, but as seconds went by, it didn't. Yet, it didn't attack them either. It simply stood, like a monumental statue. "Wait," Lorna said. "Is Jean doing this? Is she changing her methods, or what? Why…?"

She trailed off when she saw Kurt's shocked expression. Turning around, she saw that Jean had stopped in midair, floating above a building. For a moment, she was still, then Lorna heard her scream of agony rip through the night air as she clutched at her head. The flames surrounding her body began to flicker out…

"Oh, gracious Lord," Kurt whispered as the Phoenix's fire was finally quenched and she plummeted to the street below.

"Jean!" Lorna screamed as her friend hit the pavement. She ran over to her as fast as she could, though Kurt was there before her. She was astonished to see Jean straining to lift herself off the ground. _She should be dead_, Lorna thought in disbelief.

"Jean, what has happened? Are you all right?" Kurt asked.

"Get away from me," she gasped out in a ragged breath.

Lorna looked confused. "Why? What's wrong?"

The redhead cried out in pain as she struggled to lift herself onto one arm, still clutching her head with the other hand. She felt a foreign presence in her mind, tearing at the barriers she was trying so hard to keep in place. It was too late to stop it. She felt the familiar presence rising quickly within her… all she could do now was warn them all.

_Go inside… now,_ she projected, using all the resistance she had left to send that command to every mind she found within 20 miles of the spot. She felt herself sink into the darkness finally…

"What?" Lorna's eyes went wide with recognition as Jean lifted her head. Jean's eyes were two orbs of the deepest black, her face intensely sinister.

"No," the younger woman whispered, stumbling backward as Jean stood tall. Now she was truly gone.

A moment later, Lorna and Kurt were inside a nearby building, scrambling for any shelter they could find. Hiding under a table, they looked out briefly as Dark Phoenix began to rise into the air again, both of them hoping desperately that people had recognized and followed Jean's last charge.

"Nightcrawler?"

Kurt turned his head at the recognition of his name. He saw two yellow eyes peeking at him from across the room from among a crowd of people. He knew exactly who it was. "Mystique," he whispered. "Is that you? What are you doing here?"

"Hiding from those machines, just like you are," she replied nonchalantly. "What's going on out there now?"

Kurt turned around to see that Jean was out of sight now. His heart began to pound. "Ask again in a few minutes."

* * *

As the Blackbird landed smoothly on the water near the San Francisco Bay harbor, all the X-Men were already rushing off, jumping onto the piers from the back of the jet. Storm powered off quickly before coming out and joining them. 

"Okay, fearless leader," Colossus said. "What's our plan of action?"

"First," Storm began, "we need to assess the size of the threat we're dealing with. How many of these things are there, and where—?"

"Um, I hate to interrupt, but what in the world is that?" Shadowcat pointed to a spot far above their heads.

Everyone looked up into the dark sky, and a stunned silence followed. High above the bay, a lone figure floated in the air, visibly pulsing with dark energy. Wolverine squinted at the sight as he walked forward. "Is that Jeannie?"

"It couldn't be. The Professor said that Jean was stable… she wouldn't be up there," Storm reasoned.

Directly below the person's body, the bay began to rumble as columns of water rose up from it. Iceman backed away. "The Professor could always be wrong."

"Well, I'm thinking I don't want to stick around to find out," Rogue said quickly before she turned decisively and ran for shelter. Without question or protest, the rest followed suit. Wolverine couldn't help but look back one last time. He was sure it was her…

* * *

Dark Phoenix was loud, her voice, her presence consuming Jean from inside. Silent tears rolled down Jean's face, her emotions leaking through to the surface, even while she was being smothered by the evil that had emerged. _I'm sorry for what I'm about to do… I'm so sorry,_ she wanted to say, but Dark Phoenix had her mind, so the regret she felt was only manifested in her always-constant soul. 

"Don't be," she heard her voice saying out loud. "_I'm_ not."

Jean screamed in anguish as her body manifested a crimson firebird whose wings spread over the water like giant clouds that had burst into flame. In one giant motion, it radiated an enormous wave of heat and energy over the bay area. The force of it howled through San Francisco as every single pane of glass in the city was gutted from its window, sparkling in millions of shards that were beautiful to see from above. Everything on the street was annihilated, every Sentinel that was left turned to dust. The city heaved a sigh as all the power burned out, and the silent darkness that followed made it seem like a city of the dead…

Dark Phoenix apparently didn't have any desire to do more. What she'd done was enough.

Jean felt herself resurfacing as she lost consciousness… despair filled her last moment of waking. She couldn't be forgiven for this, and perhaps it was better she should die now for the last time… her condition was insurmountable. She thought this before she began to fall the hundreds of feet into the bay.

* * *

They heard the splash. Before anyone could say a word, Wolverine was out the door of the now burned-out building, racing down the pier and diving into the water like a seal. He'd never known he could swim so fast. Before long, he could see the body of the person he now thought _had _to be Jean, sinking limply through the water. He quickly grabbed her, still unable to see her face clearly, and rocketed to the surface, taking a gasping breath as he hoisted the limp body up onto his back. Paddling back to shore, he yelled to his comrades between breaths. "Hey! Someone help me!" 

When he got there, Colossus pulled the body off his back and the women helped him up on the pier. He shook the water off of his uniform, glancing with apprehension at the wet body that lay face-down next to him.

"Moment of truth," Colossus said as he turned the person over. Everyone gasped when they saw it _was_ Jean, and looks of incredulity crossed their faces. Of course they'd believed the Professor, but _seeing_ her there was overwhelming. Rogue began to cry as she turned away into Iceman's arms. The rest only stared in disbelief.

Colossus leaned over her with an ear to her mouth. He straightened suddenly. "She isn't breathing."

"Shit!" Wolverine growled as he knelt beside her. "We can't lose her again." He began performing ad lib CPR, trying to pump the water out of her lungs. Every press on her chest produced more liquid. Kitty stood watching, her mouth moving slightly, trying to form what she didn't know just how to say.

Storm looked up the hill toward the city, grimacing at the wreckage. There was smoke rising from a few buildings, and glass was scattered everywhere. A few scared people were creeping shakily outside, and she imagined with sympathy the terror that they must have been experiencing the entire night. "Wolverine, I don't want to make it sound like Jean isn't important, but there are other people here who need help."

"Okay," he said between blowing air into Jean's lungs. "You guys go take care of them. I'll stay with Jean."

"We'll be back, and we'll probably have a lot of refugees. Be prepared, 'kay?" Storm gestured to the others to follow her, and they began to walk up the hill without a moment to lose.

Wolverine turned back to Jean and began to do chest compressions again. With each moment, he grew more and more frightened for Jean. But as soon as he began to blow air into her mouth again, he felt her heave under him and she gave a huge gasping breath. He jumped back as she forced out watery-sounding coughs, her eyes still closed. Her right hand felt around frantically until it missed the pier, at which point Jean promptly rolled over to the side and threw up a surprising amount of water over the side of the dock. She flopped back over, looking completely spent, and slowly opened her eyes. They looked normal enough.

"Jeannie," Wolverine whispered in relief as he leaned over her. Now that his initial panic was gone, he felt his emotions for her return as he watched her coming to life in front of him.

She blinked in bleary confusion as she registered his presence. "Logan?" she said. "Why are you… why are you here?"

Her voice was so weak, she was so frail-looking, that it broke Wolverine's heart. All he wanted was to protect her. "Shhh, it's okay," he murmured to the woman he loved. "You're safe now."

She closed her eyes again. "What have I done?" Her voice was barely audible, but full of terror.

"Everything'll be fine," he said as he stroked her cheek—it was alarmingly cold—with his hand. "We're gonna take you home."

"Home?" she said dreamily, not minding his touch. "Yes. I want to go home."

"Rest now," he said. "I'll take care of you." _I always will,_ he vowed silently. _From now on._

"Okay," she whispered as she drifted back to sleep. _Thank you_, Wolverine heard pass in his head.

He sat there beside her a little while longer, watching her sleep so peacefully and listening to her even breathing. He thought she was as beautiful as she'd ever been to him and more. She reminded him of a newborn with how innocent she looked, and he realized that, oddly, she was. Despite all that had happened, despite what she'd done, she was still the same woman who was dear to him. With this thought, Wolverine scooped her gently up in his arms and carried her into the jet, where he wrapped her in a blanket and laid her on one of the cots they had in the back. He knew he'd have to move her later, but for now he wanted her to be comfortable. Pausing as he set her down, he ran his hand through her hair and laid a light kiss on her temple. Then he went and sat down across from her, relishing the opportunity to see her alive again, wishing and praying that she wouldn't have to ever go out of his sight.

* * *

"Well," he said darkly as he lit a cigarette and held it between his lips, "that didn't quite work out the way I'd hoped." Walking again to the girl he called Astrid, he blew a cloud of smoke into her hair. "But I see new possibilities here. You're lucky; you kept your job _and_ your life." 

"What do I mean?" he chuckled mockingly after a moment's pause. "I mean that since these mutie heroes—X-Men, is that what they call themselves?—are taking in refugees, they'll all be in close to one location soon. And of course they won't be relocating until it's safe… by then it'll be too late, though." He grinned slyly. "Doesn't that sound like a good plan? We'll lose a lot of units in the process, but there are always more to be made."

He nodded. "I thought you'd agree." The man took a drag of his cigarette and focused his attention out into the hangar, where hundreds more Sentinel units stood waiting for signals.

* * *

"Is anyone here? Hello?" The X-Men searched the streets of San Francisco, signaling for people that they were safe. The streets were slowly beginning to fill with people. Storm, Rogue, Shadowcat and Iceman were in one group, while Angel was flying over the city to do surveillance and Colossus was looking for people elsewhere. 

"It's safe to come out now, the robots are all gone!" Rogue shouted as she searched a building for survivors.

"Why, if it isn't Xavier's young protégés. How are you all?"

Every one of them whirled around to face the familiar voice. Shadowcat took on a look of exasperation. "Aw, not _you_! Magneto? Of all people…"

"At least he's depowered," Storm muttered as she stared her former foe down coldly.

Eric smiled. "Actually, my abilities are quite intact. The cure was ineffective. But there's no need for violence on either of our parts," he continued before they could begin to attack him. "You might say I've joined your side."

A blonde woman whom none of them recognized stood next to him, and she'd been staring at them skeptically the whole time. "Are these seriously the X-Men?"

"Better believe it," Shadowcat snapped.

"Okay, honey," the blonde said defensively, putting her hands up. "Chill."

"My brothers—"

"Don't call us that," Iceman growled.

"—this is Miss Emma Frost. She's not one to be trifled with," Eric continued as though nothing had been said.

"Better believe it," Emma said mockingly.

"What happened to Mystique and the rest of your old gang?"

"Mystique is somewhere else in the city, leading another part of our group. As for Mr. Allerdyce," he replied, "I have not seen him since Alcatraz."

"Fair enough," Rogue muttered.

"So, then," Eric said, "which of you has been put in charge here now that all your old leaders have gone?"

Storm ignored what she thought was meant to be a scathing tone. "I have."

Eric smiled. "Ah, the lovely Ms. Munroe." He stepped forward and extended a hand. "Please, let's have no animosity here. We will help you if you will help us."

She raised an inquiring eyebrow. "How?"

"It's quite simple, really: when another attack is launched, as I'm sure one will be given the nature of this one, our added presence gives you more firepower for the campaign. That is, assuming you will shelter us, as our homes have most likely been destroyed."

Storm paused when she heard Xavier speak in her head. _His intentions are true, Storm. Take his group with you, and he and I will talk back at the mansion._

Storm nodded in approval. She shook Eric's hand unsmilingly. "Deal."

The X-Men led them back to the jet, not another word being spoken between them the entire way.

* * *

Lorna crawled out from underneath the table where she and Kurt were hidden, pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes. Looking around, she saw trickles of people beginning to re-enter the streets. She placed her hands gingerly between shards of glass to push herself up to standing. "I think we're in the clear now," she said breathlessly. Kurt stood beside her barely a moment later, still keeping a suspicious eye on the woman he'd called Mystique. She eyed him with curiosity in return. 

Lorna's body shook as she wiped confused tears from her face and took a glance around the ruined interior of the building. A few more people were wandering about as she and Kurt crept cautiously out to the street, shaking with fear. "I can't believe I'm saying this," Lorna whispered between quiet sobs, "but we have to find Jean."

"_Ja_, but where to begin? She could be anywhere. She might be…" Kurt fell silent, unable to speak the possibility. She'd become too dear a friend to him.

Lorna didn't respond. She gazed sadly into the street, watching the people, many of whom were weeping while others were more quietly shaken. The asphalt was destroyed by star-shaped cracks which ran from central impact points—_their_ footsteps. She thought, as she stared at one, that a shadow might have crossed it for a moment.

"Are you all right, Miss?"

She turned to face the voice and saw a young blonde man wearing an expression of concern, noticing first a pair of large, silky feathered white wings protruding from his back. "An angel?" she whispered low enough so he might not hear.

He must have been familiar with the hope-filled expression that she was unconsciously exuding, because he gave a knowing smile. "No, I'm not an angel, I'm a mutant. Warren Worthington's my name."

"Then," Kurt asked, "are you Angel of the X-Men?"

Warren nodded. "Yeah. We were sent out as soon as we knew what was happening." His face turned stony as his gaze wandered along the devastated street. "Not soon enough."

"And Jean?" Lorna burst out, desperation in her eyes. "Have you… have you found Jean?"

"We have. She's with Wolverine right now… but I don't know what kind of condition she's in. When we found her she was almost drowned."

Lorna stifled a gasp, trying to convince herself Jean would be fine… _but then, do I want her to be?_

She vaguely heard Warren say something about information, about her and Kurt having been around Jean and "take you back to the mansion." The next thing she knew she was standing at a waterlogged pier with a crowd of others, including Kurt, the one called Mystique, and her followers. Next to them was a large, impressive-looking jet floating serenely on the water, and above, the ruins of the city that had only a few hours before been home. But not home anymore. No, she knew they were being taken someplace different. That night, something big had been triggered for the world. A chill ran up Lorna's back as she speculated about whether it was only the first of many.

* * *

Ahaha, the triumphal return! Here you are, laddies. And I'm sure I can manage to give you another during Christmas break. Hope you're still enjoying it! Review, review!  



	9. Drain

The cold whirring of machinery coupled with the chill that rattled down her limbs almost made Jean not want to open her eyes. She almost knew it was the biting cold of the depths, and the dull sound of water rushing up past her ears as she sank like a jet-powered rock. _I'm in the bay! I'm drowning again!_ Her first instinct caused her body to go taut with fear, but then she suppressed the certain follow-up of flailing when she noticed the unwavering light that was allowing her to see the intricate web of purple veins in her eyelids.

"Too cold… too bright," she groaned as she turned her head away from the light source, squeezing her eyes shut and curling up to embrace her goose-pimpled legs. She was clad in nothing except a camisole and shorts. Finally daring to open her eyes, Jean looked around at metallic walls and monitors scattered across the room. She noticed a vitals monitor right next to her bed, the heart rate beeping steadily and moderately, like that of a resting person. She blinked in surprise when she noticed the thick IV that was almost haphazardly shoved into the crook of her arm. Jean recognized this room, this equipment, the ever-present chill. She just couldn't put her finger on where she was.

A loud snore from behind made her jump and utter a gasp of surprise. Quickly turning herself over, Jean saw a figure seated on a chair against the wall, slumped forward in sleep. It was Logan.

"Of course," Jean whispered. She remembered him talking to her, telling her everything would be fine. God, she hoped he was right. But at least she knew what his presence meant, what this room meant… "I'm home." _And barely able to believe it._

It was now that Jean, out of habit, began to worry about Phoenix. It was quiet, but she remembered what had happened just before she'd fallen. She was so confused—Phoenix had been _changed_. She tracked over it in her mind: the elation and trust she felt when Phoenix did something good for a change. The mind-numbing swell of voices that suddenly invaded her above the streets. The horror and guilt she felt when that "something else"—something evil—broke free and Jean once again became the pawn for its insatiable bloodlust. It was just a hunch… but maybe something else had entered the equation this time. The transformation wasn't normal.

Pushing these thoughts from her head, Jean looked back toward Logan's slouchy figure and smiled. _My dear friend_, she thought. _How long you've awaited me._ She hadn't needed to read his mind back on the docks to know this.

Jean stood carefully up off the table. She shuddered to remember the last time she'd been in that same place. Screaming the whole time trying to let Jean out, screaming at Phoenix, no, no, don't do this to him, don't do this to them, how can you destroy everything I love and disguise yourself as me... she'd been so glad to die, to pay for it all, and at the same time so frustrated that she'd had to when the debt wasn't really hers.

_You can tell yourself that all you want. You're the one who consented. I fed off of your anger, Jean._

"Now you speak up."

_What? Isn't it nice to have a "vent?"_ There was heavy sarcasm in that question.

"If I wanted a vent I could have settled for clay pigeons."

_That's bullshit. You _wanted_ me to destroy what was holding you back._

Jean pulled the IV out of her arm cautiously, then grabbed a shirt from the top of a pile of clothes—the clothes she'd left here!—and slipped it on. "I didn't want them to die," she replied bitterly.

From this she got only a stifled snicker, but she didn't react. If she got angry, she knew what would happen. The mysterious silence that she'd had before the night of the Sentinels was long gone. After fixing the button on the pants she'd just put on, she made a point to _manually_ open the door to the hallway. She stole one last glance at the sleeping Logan before stepping quietly into the hall. She barely noticed the presence of Dr. Moira MacTaggert slipping into the medbay behind her, and didn't consider that maybe she wasn't supposed to get up and leave…

As the elevator doors closed, Jean found she couldn't stop herself from tipping forward. _I must have really taken a hit falling into the bay_. She clutched the side rail in the car and waited for the black spots to clear from her vision before getting off to the large, silent corridors she began to recognize at that moment.

"Hello?" she called out, getting no reply except the sound of her own voice bouncing back to her from the polished tile and wood surfaces. "Typical," she said to herself. "They must all be in class." Ordinarily, she would have been, too. But once again she had to remind herself that too much had changed.

Jean walked barefoot on the cold tile and a chill ran up her spine. What would people say when they saw her? Would she be able to taste the hatred in their glances? What could she possibly say to justify what had happened? Her limbs went leaden with a black dread. She had the worst suspicion that she'd really killed everything she loved, and anything that remained was irretrievable.

Except that Logan was there.

_Logan's a lust-crazed animal who'd do anything for a good lay,_ Jean assured herself.

She barely had a moment to laugh, though, before one very painful memory returned to her. _He told me he loved me._ God, amid all that chaos, after Phoenix had tried to kill him repeatedly… he loved her, and he saw who she was, saw through the façade. He'd looked right in her eyes and said it. But her guilt, her desperation had overwhelmed her. She hadn't said it too. Now, able to think, Jean was unclear about what exactly she felt. But she didn't care. She didn't need another distraction, another muddled detail among the myriad other problems she had to deal with. If she survived the destructive monster inside her, Logan could wait.

Any mullings that left her standing in the middle of the corridor were broken by the shrill sound of the passing bell. Jean flinched, as she often did, which had always been a source of amusement for her former students. As people began to flood into the hallways, she stood frozen in fear, her green eyes wide with apprehension. The strongly familiar, but somehow impossible presence from the classroom behind her did nothing to help. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest.

Pivoting slowly on her heels, Jean drew in a calm breath that stopped abruptly when she saw—or rather, felt—the person in her line of sight. An unfamiliar face, but the spirit behind it was unmistakeable, and it was projecting loud anxiety. "Ch-charles?" Jean whispered, awestruck, as he stepped cautiously toward her.

"Yes… yes, Jean, it's me," he replied. She could see the tears gleaming in his eyes as he looked her over. Behind her feelings of confusion, joy, sadness, she felt Phoenix's anger burning the edges of her consciousness. It didn't surface this time because Jean suppressed it, even as she stared at her old teacher and father figure in wonder.

"Am I dreaming?"

"No, this isn't a dream." He audaciously put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm fine, Jean."

She was on the verge of bursting into relieved tears and hugging him. The only thing that stopped her was one thought that raced around and around in her mind. _Scott. If Charles is here... Scott must be here!_

She didn't notice when Charles's face became stricken with panic and grief. "No—Jean, Scott is—!"

Without leaving a moment for him to finish, Jean raced off like a bullet toward the classroom she knew Scott used. She called his name, she looked in his classroom, but he was nowhere to be seen. _He must have known I was coming, so he's in our room…_ "Scott, I'm coming!"

Jean raced up to the room they had shared. There were all her things, just as they were… and none of his.

She was increasingly confused as the hope of finding him there became quieter and quieter in her mind. She stood, looking at her things, then went to the window to look out toward the garden. Jean's heart was troubled. It hurt badly to breathe.

"Scott… where are you?" she gasped as she sank to the floor…

* * *

BAM.

_My home is gone._

BAM.

_My friends are scattered._

BAM.

_I'm a stranger in a huge house full of muties._

BAM.

The yell from her throat broke the constant sound of battering fists as Lorna stepped back from the punching block she had been beating on in the school's gym for the last half-hour. Shivering, she looked around to see that she was the only one left there to hear that yell. All the students and teachers were in class, and anyone else who had been in there before was gone. She heaved a sigh as she flopped onto her rear next to the punching block. "My god, I needed that."

"Very impressive."

The voice came from the doorway. Lorna couldn't hide the taut resentment in her face when she saw who it was. "You…"

"All that pent-up range does your arm a lot of good." He smiled knowingly.

Lorna's glare was steady and daunting. "Why in the hell are you here?" she growled.

"Why, my dear girl, you know who I am? I'm flattered. But to answer your question," he continued while pacing up toward her, "I have suffered the same fate as you. Charles Xavier was only too generous to take us and others into shelter for a while."

"Yeah, good for him," she replied, her voice burning with cynicism.

He laughed. "Now, now. Don't waste your precious emotions on your benefactor." He paused to let a moment sink through. "What is your name?"

"Lorna," she replied shortly as she took a swig from her water bottle.

"Ah, an exquisite name for an exquisite woman. You—"

"Enough!" she snapped, opening her hand so that a piece of piping flew into it easily. "I know all your tricks, Magneto. You're good at manipulating people. But not me, got it?"

Eric didn't regard her remark, but kept his eyes focused on the hand with the pipe in it. "You and I, we are not so different from each other, Lorna," he said quietly.

"Bullshit. I am _nothing_ like you. I still believe people are good!"

"Are they good _enough_, Lorna?" he asked calmly. "Good enough to appreciate the color of your hair instead of considering you as part of a freak show? Or to say hello to you on the street when they see that you are, in fact, a mutant?"

Lorna paused before answering. "I don't see why they trust you. You never changed!" She threw the piece of piping at Eric in violent anger. When he put his hand out, though, the piping stopped to float in midair.

Lorna thrust her hand out as well, magnetically pushing the pipe back toward him. But she wasn't used to forcing so much energy. Her arm began to hurt, even as the pipe steadily climbed back in her direction. Eventually, though she'd tried to stop it, the pipe was pressing her to the floor by her throat.

Eric came beside her struggling figure as she slowly began to choke. "I know you don't understand. You've never been… normal, have you?" He knelt down, still pressing the pipe into her neck. "Charles and I are fighting for a world where we can all coexist."

"The only reason _you_ say that," Lorna managed to force out, "is because you want your own kind to be superior. It's… always been that way… with you," she gasped. "All that's changed… is you're part of both kinds now."

Eric watched her for a little bit longer, even as her face began to turn blue. Then, wordlessly, he let the pipe drop. Lorna gasped in air as her neck was freed up.

"You are young. You still have much to learn," Eric called back as he walked away.

Lorna stared after him, seething, until he was out of sight. Swinging around, she struck the punching block until it fell over from the force.

* * *

"James Logan! How can you be so inattentive?"

Logan winced in his chair and let out an annoyed grunt as the palm of Dr. MacTaggert's hand came down on the side of his head. He stood swiftly, his bulky frame towering above the small-boned woman, but her blazing Scottish fury made her the more frightening one. "Hey! What the hell was that for, lady?" he growled all the same.

Moira glared daggers as her arm swung outward to indicate the empty bed and the detached IV dripping morphine onto the floor. "I merely went to do some bloodwork, Logan. I came back to find you asleep and Jean gone!" Her voice took on a tone of concern. "She's not stable, nor fit to be around the students. And apart from that, she has fractured ribs and internal damage, which is now unmedicated!"

Logan felt guiltier with each word she said. _I promised to take care of her. I'm such an idiot._ "I'll go find her," he sighed, and left the medbay without another word.

* * *

Rogue watched cautiously as her fingers touched the delicate petals of a wild violet that was growing out in the yard. She concentrated on the same thing as always, letting her life energies be pushed out, and she ignored the sun that beat down on her bare neck. The violet flower remained, just as if she were any normal person touching it. Rogue smiled quietly to herself. It even looked like it was trying to grow a little…

A loud, harsh _crack_ sliced the silent air and Rogue instinctively jerked her hand away. "What in the world…" it had come from the southern part of the yard, where the gardens and monuments were. Worried but unsure why, Rogue ran down the path toward the garden as she slipped her gloves back on. She remembered something… Jean was back… _but she's in the medbay, it couldn't be her._ She thought she was starting to become as intolerant as anyone else… just because Jean was different from her.

Running with these thoughts in her confused mind, she gasped as a steely arm reached out and grabbed her, stopping her short. "Logan, what are you doing?" she asked incredulously, trying to catch her breath.

Logan shushed the young mutant curtly and pointed down the path toward the monument site. Rogue squinted to see a figure with red hair standing stone-still in front of Scott Summers's broken grave. "Oh my god," she whispered. Did Jean know what she'd done?

"Get inside now, kid," Logan ordered her in a low voice. "Don't let anyone out here."

Rogue's mouth was open, preparing to argue that he shouldn't be out there either, but she closed it when she realized that if he didn't do something Jean might go on another rampage. She looked back toward Jean, who was still unmoving. "Please be careful," she whispered as tears sprang to her eyes.

"Don't worry," Logan said, pushing Rogue gently toward the door before walking purposefully toward the silent woman at the other side of the field.

Jean's mind was numb, her vision fading quickly as she tried to block out what she'd just discovered and prevent the formidable transition that caused her to be drowned in her own mind over and over again. She fought to ignore the overpowering pain in her chest, the swell of torturous emotion that throbbed in her heart. _Just don't let it happen oh my god he's gone Jean just stop this you have to be in control how can this be happening I thought it was all a dream did I do this stop it stop thinking just walk away just walk away._ She could barely breathe, and her hands began to shake as she felt the unnerving presence of the man who stood behind her.

"Jean." His voice was so calm. She could not respond. Her body refused to work as her mind fought for control. "Are you all right?"

She opened her mouth and forced out a rasping, whispered sound. I'm fine, she meant to say to him. I'll be better soon. But that's not what came out.

"How did it happen?" Logan heard her ask slowly and forcedly. Her hands shook visibly. He knew he had to choose his words.

"He went quickly, Jean. Without pain."

She turned around slowly to face him now. The sight of him was watery and faded. She felt the tears building in her eyes as she heard the resonance of his thoughts. "Did I do this?" she whispered.

Logan stepped toward her cautiously. "Jean, you weren't yourself…"

"Did I kill him, Logan?" she asked a little louder.

His mouth was dry as he gave her the fatal answer. "Yes."

Jean felt her heart drop like a stone. Thoughts ran around and around in her head as all her hope died. Secretly, desperately, she had wanted to believe that it had been a dream. She'd seen Charles and against all hope had thought she'd never killed anyone. Now her last strand of hope was gone. She was truly Dark Phoenix, just an instrument of destruction and wrath.

"Why me?" she said, her voice shuddering. Her eyes met Logan's. He looked to be at a loss for words. "I did it… I killed him? Why?" Her voice broke into pain-filled sobs that felt like needles into her chest.

"You weren't _you_, Jean. You didn't have any control over the situation."

"Of course I did… how else would I have known about it later; I was fighting the whole time, kicking and screaming inside my head, but it wasn't enough, God, it was never enough…" her words spilled out unhindered with her tears. She saw that her vision was beginning to darken, but she couldn't contain the horrible flood of emotion that she'd kept bundled up in her frail hope all this time. She felt Logan's strong hands gripping her shoulders as she was wracked with her bitter weeping.

"Jean, everything's going to be okay. We're going to help you this time." Logan tried to hide his apprehension as the grass beneath his feet stiffened and leaves rose off the ground all around.

"How can you say it'll be okay? How can anyone help me?" she sobbed, her voice rising dangerously. "You know what I'll do to them! You know what I'll do! You can't trust me!"

An unnaturally strong gust of wind bowled through the grounds, followed by a searing pain in Logan's inner ears. He saw blackness beginning to pool in Jean's water-filled eyes. "But now it's different! We'll find a way to help you get control! Jean, stay with me!" he gasped as he felt the pain again.

"I killed him and I'll only kill them too," she said bitterly. "There is no way out anymore." Her vision turned completely black as she drowned in her consciousness.

"Focus, Jean! Fight it! This isn't you!"

"IT IS ME!" she shouted as she thrust Logan away from her viciously.

As he fell back on the grass Logan heard an explosive sound of shattering glass and crumbling stone. The windows in the building burst violently and the gravestones behind Jean turned to ash. Logan knew he was next. Forcing himself to standing, he trudged the few feet over to Jean, whose face and eyes were completely dark and sinister. "I still mean what I said, Jean," he told her as he looked straight into her eyes, searching for some hint of the woman he knew.

She heard him and came to the surface. Her eyes flashed their vibrant green. "Do something," she begged him before she could slip back into oblivion. "Stop me."

In response, Logan brained her with his adamantium fist. Jean collapsed instantly into his waiting arms. The wind, the pain in his ears, and everything else returned to normal. Logan stood there a minute to look at Jean's face, still streaked with tears, before carrying her back inside, where the floor gleamed in the sun with glass shards. The pain in his own heart mirrored hers.

* * *

No one spoke a word to each other as they passed between rooms cleaning up glass in the quickest way any of them could. The students were huddled up inside their bedrooms, while the staff and some of the refugee mutants cleaned up the mess. All shared a nauseating worry about having someone like Jean at the school.

A little while later, after most of the mess was gone, Ororo slowly paced the silent halls, trying to steady her mood so that the weather outside would be a little more pleasant, in regard to the lack of windows in the school. She passed by Xavier's office, where the professor sat with his head resting in his hands. Hesitating in her step, Ororo sighed as she looked outside at the clear, warm sky. In her heart, her mood did not mirror the weather.

Charles didn't look up when Ororo came in and just stood by the door. He was praying, for the first time in a long while. For Jean's safety.

"Is she really worth all this?" Ororo asked quietly, with no trace of anger.

"I hope so, Ororo. For all our sakes."

Ororo came and sat across from Charles, who folded his hands and looked up at her as she began to speak. "This school is supposed to be a safe place for mutants, Professor. But since she's been back, everyone's been on edge."

"This place is her home, too. If we turn Jean away, we will have made our goal for this school null and void," he replied succinctly.

Ororo's expression showed concern now. "I want us to be able to help her too, Charles. But it's not just that she has the potential to be dangerous; she had that before, too. It's that she _is_ dangerous. To herself, to us… to everyone. She's out of control."

Charles smiled. "You should know better than anyone that control can be taught."

She smiled too, thinking in hindsight to the time when she herself first came to the school. "I do know. But Jean's case is… well, 'unusual' doesn't quite cut it, I don't think."

"She's uncovered her potential very rapidly. Too rapidly for her own good. But it's not too late for her, I don't think." He looked away down the hall. "That must be why she's here now."

Ororo looked serious. "Do you know what you're dealing with?"

Charles smiled back at his old pupil. "No. But I have a notion of _how_ to 'deal' with it."

The silver-haired woman looked apprehensive. "I just worry about you, Professor. We lost you once. I don't want it to happen again."

He stood from his chair, still smiling. "I'll be more careful this time."

Ororo gave him her silent consent as he walked toward the door. Charles turned around. "I'm going to go see Jean now. I've missed her far too much."

* * *

So sorry for the long lag between updates! Gah… there'll probably be another one, knowing me, and also because my wedding's coming up in a month. I WILL finish this story though! If it takes me till 2010, I'll finish it! (Let's hope it doesn't, though, hehe)

Enjoy this chapter! There'll be much more plot-twisting and action coming up soon!


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